


Converge, Connect

by timehopper



Series: Intersect and Overlap [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A take on possible canon?, Anal Sex, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Gore, Bounty Hunters, Death, Drinking, Follows canon so far, Killing, M/M, Mercenaries, Not quite Canon but not quite AU either, Oral Sex, Post-Recall, Recall refusal, Shooting, Shooting Guns, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Nine months since refusing Overwatch's recall. Seven months since sleeping with a stranger he met in a bar. One week of stakeouts and security and pretending it isn't awkward to be working with said one-night stand halfway across the world.And maybe hoping for a little more.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to [Intersecting Points](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582604) and part two of what will hopefully be a multi-part series. This is the first multi-chapter fic I've written/worked on in about... ten years? So we'll have to see how this goes I guess, hahaha. 
> 
> Rating, tags, and warnings WILL change as the story progresses.

Nine months since Overwatch was recalled, McCree has still not returned.  
  
He’s considered it, sure – many times. He has friends there, and lots of them. He can't deny he misses them. But Overwatch failed once, and that had been when it was, if not a legal organization, then at least a UN-sanctioned one. If they get caught one too many times, make too big a name for themselves, then it's game over. Again.  
  
He isn't worried about that for himself. He's always been good at flying under the radar, thanks to Blackwatch. But the rest of them, people like Tracer and Winston and Reinhardt and Mercy, had none of the training he'd had. They didn't know how to stick to the shadows. Genji will be fine, at least; even without his stealth training, the guy has a habit of getting out of slippery situations.  
  
But that's the other problem: he's never been suited for Overwatch proper. Not when he was picked up off the side of the road, and not now. He would fill in on strike teams when asked, yes, but true, blue, out-and-out heroics had never been his style. He could be flashy when the situation called for it (and when it didn't), but he was always best left to his own devices. He wasn't suited to answer to the chain of command; though Morrison was the final word, he threw his lot in with Gabriel Reyes first.  
  
But Reyes and Morrison are long gone. There's nobody left to answer to but himself.  
  
He doubts there's a place for Blackwatch in the new Overwatch. Blackwatch was what started the downfall, and though they need to lay low now, he knows none of the current operatives would approve of his methods over the ones they know.  
  
But that's fine. McCree is more than happy to work alone.  
  
Working alone has its benefits, anyhow. Since that day on the train, he's been single-mindedly finding and chasing down leads. Those robbers on the train were Blackwatch. They had to be. They _knew_ him. They did everything he had been taught to do -- everything he _had_ had to do at some point or another. They were too good, too well-trained. Talon's good, but they've never been that good.  
  
He knows Overwatch could help him. He knows they have the resources, if not the pure drive, to put an end to Talon. He knows the intel he has, little though it is, will help them. But this is something he needs to do alone. He made the mistake of leaving once, running from the problem before it got too big and leaving everyone else to deal with the fallout. But not this time. Not again.  
  
He takes a drag on his cigar and puts down the paper he had been reading. There's going to be a conference in Iraq soon, headed by some of the world's most renowned engineers. The topic: peaceful human-omnic co-existence and how to achieve it.  
  
It's the perfect place for Talon to rear its ugly head.

 

\-----

 

It doesn't take much effort to find details about the conference. Security is going to be headed by Helix's top dogs, which, to McCree, means they're expecting terrorist activity just as much as he is. It's reasonable, given the assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta. Anything less than the best would be an open invitation for assassins.  
  
That doesn't mean that's all Helix is providing, though.  
  
He's worked with Helix before, on the down-low; though they claim to be an open and upright organization, they occasionally need a little bit of a hand dealing with certain threats. That much has become clear given recent security breaches. And what better help could they get than guns-for-hire? People Helix could afford to lose, but were willing to fight for their cause?  
  
He isn't surprised at all when the message comes.

 

\----- 

 

Two days after Helix hires him, McCree is on the plane to Oasis. He's been given a fraction of his pay up front in order to get him there and get him a place to stay. It's just enough to get him into a hostel for the duration of the conference and the three days he has before it.  
  
Generous, all things considered. Most people didn't pay until the job was done. No point in paying dead men, after all.  
  
Helix calls for him the day after he arrives. He needs to meet the people he's going to be working with -- the Helix guards and their mercenaries. He wonders if Fareeha is going to be on this mission. She was his initial in with Helix, but it's rare for him to work with her nowadays.  
  
He wonders, too, if she knows that Overwatch is back. Probably not; she would have jumped at the chance to sign up.  
  
Fareeha is not present when McCree finally arrives at Helix's offices. The meeting room is crowded with twenty or so men and women clad in uniform (none of whom look even remotely like Fareeha), while there are maybe a dozen others who are not. McCree stands at the back of the room, by the door, and has the distinct feeling he's being watched. The back of his neck prickles with tension. He suppresses a shudder. There are no eyes on him, not directly, but he can't shake the feeling.  
  
He tries to ignore it by checking out the people he's trusting with his life for the next few days. It's a real ragtag group, with people from all walks of life in all manner of dress. There's a woman in what looks like full-body armour with piercings all over her face; there's another woman with short hair and the biggest pair of combat boots McCree has ever seen (sadly lacking in spurs); a man with a scar along his throat; a woman missing an ear and a couple fingers...  
  
Then he sees it.  
  
The scales of a dragon cascading in a coil down an arm, nearly shimmering in the low light of the room. He follows the inked lines of scales and clouds and lightning from hand to elbow to chest, from the tip of the dragon's feathered tail to a strong jaw and neatly-trimmed beard. Jesse meets the other man's dark eyes for just a moment. He has to force himself to look away, to pretend he did not just look into the eyes of Hanzo Shimada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	2. Coffee and a Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oasis is the last place McCree expected to run into Hanzo Shimada again. But he's here now, and offering an explanation. They're going to be working together, so McCree figures he might as well listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been finished for a while now, but I'm trying to build up a bit of a backlog before I post stuff to make sure I don't take forever with content. 
> 
> This is mostly a chapter to lay foundation, and makes significant reference to [Intersecting Points](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582604). Not necessary to understand what's going on, but if you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend you do just for some context (unless NSFW isn't your thing; in which case, you can skip that one). 
> 
> Enjoy! ♥

He can feel Hanzo's eyes on him throughout the entire meeting.  
  
It goes by excruciatingly slowly. There isn't much to get briefed on past the background information on the conference itself, where everyone will be positioned, and what roles they're meant to carry out. McCree is supposed to monitor and patrol the building from the inside and put an end to any suspicious situation before it starts. When Hanzo's role is being assigned, McCree can't help but glance over at him. His expression is blank, but not naturally. It's affected just enough that McCree can guess that Shimada is either uneasy or trying to hide the fact that he's bored out of his damn mind. Maybe a little bit of both.  
  
_Then again_ , McCree thinks, _I could just be projecting._  
  
The meeting ends abruptly, somewhere between McCree fiddling with the joints on his metal fingers and giving in to the temptation to stare at Hanzo. Just to check he wasn't imagining things, of course. That Hanzo Shimada really was in the same room as him and on the same mission and was still just as pretty as he was all those months ago when they --  
  
_"Dismissed."_  
  
McCree jolts, jerked from his memory and thankfully saved from being caught with a rather traitorous tent in his jeans.  
  
He stands, a little delayed, and catches Shimada's eye again. He lingers, waiting for the others to file out. McCree isn't sure if he should wait as well, or if he should hurry up and get the hell out of dodge before he's caught in another, far more awkward situation.  
  
In the end, Shimada's eyes keep him planted right where he is.  
  
It isn't until everyone else has filtered out of the room that Hanzo finally approaches him. McCree swallows the lump in his throat and resists the urge to pull the brim of his hat down, cover his eyes. He masks the way his fingers twitch ( _Shit, did Shimada see that_ ) by staring Hanzo straight in the eye and putting on what he hopes is a winning smile. "Fancy meetin' you here, Shimada."  
  
He's unable to keep his voice wholly affable; a trace of bitterness rings through, even if only slightly. Hanzo seems to pick up on it anyway, and his eyebrows raise the slightest fraction before his expression settles back into a scowl that seems all too at home on him. "You know, then."  
  
"Sure do." McCree's smile morphs into half a smirk, genuine this time. He counts this as confirmation Hanzo was trying to hide who he really was, and as far as he's concerned that's a small victory.  
  
He doesn't celebrate long. Hanzo sighs, closes his eyes. He rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He looks so tired. "It was not my intention to deceive you," he says quietly. He doesn't meet McCree's eyes. "Please allow me to explain."  
  
Explain? What is there to explain? Hanzo approached him in a bar, they got to talking, and ended up sleeping together. He didn't even leave in the middle of the night like any of McCree's other one-night stands. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. But the fact remained that this was Hanzo _Shimada_ , former heir to the Shimada criminal empire and would-be murderer of his own brother, who just so happened to be a very good friend of McCree's.  
  
The distrust must have registered on his face, because soon Hanzo was scowling again, chin tilted upward, staring him down like McCree was lucky to even be worth his attention.  
  
And fuck, if that wasn't annoyingly hot.  
  
"Need I remind you," Hanzo starts, and for the second time in the last half hour McCree is jolted back to attention. "That I was not the only one who did not reveal his whole name, Jesse McCree."  
  
Well, shit. Shimada's got him there. Before he can stop himself, Jesse reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. He breaks eye contact and shrugs, caught and cornered. As much as he wants to deny this man, spit in his face and take the shot at him Genji never got the chance to, he can't do it. Not when it's been thrown in his face that they're on pretty even footing here, and they're going to be working together.  
  
It's bad form. A man's gotta have rules, after all.  
  
"Fine," he says. He'll bite the bullet on this one, swallow his pride. "But you're buyin'."  
  
The corners of Hanzo's lips quirk upward. _Fuck_. He's won this round. "Of course."

 

\-----

 

They end up in a small café not far from the city centre, and conveniently just a block or so away from the Conference Centre. McCree is a little bit disappointed they aren't properly drinking, but he supposes he can respect Hanzo's desire to be sober for this. Doesn't mean he has to like it, though.  
  
They sit down with their drinks at a table in the back, against the wall so they can see everyone who comes in and walks out. It's busy in here. They're covered from all angles, and Jesse takes a certain amount of comfort in that. They can sit and talk in peace.  
  
For now, anyway.  
  
He folds his arms across his chest and leans back, waiting for his chai latte to cool down. Hanzo is looking down at the hands folded together in his lap, silent. It's awkward, not at all like the way they hit it off in that bar. Back then, neither of them could stop talking.  
  
He can only take so much silence, though. "So--"  
  
"I am sorry." Hanzo cuts him off, probably without even realizing it. "As I said, I did not mean to deceive you. I did not know if you knew the name Shimada, or what it might have meant. I thought it better not to say anything, just in case you had. You are not the only one with a bounty on your head."  
  
A bounty? McCree's eyes go wide and he nearly drops his latte. "You knew?"  
  
Hanzo scoffs. "Of course I knew. Your poster is all over the States and parts of Mexico, and the train robbery --"  
  
"Okay, first of all, I didn't rob that train --"  
  
"-- was all over the news for weeks. Even if there had not been a hit on you, I would have recognized you."  
  
"And second of all -- wait a tick." McCree folds his arms in front of his chest. "A _hit_?"  
  
Hanzo rolls his eyes as if it were common knowledge that a real, bonafide, genuine god-damn _hit_ had been ordered on McCree’s head on top of the already ridiculous bounty slapped on all his wanted posters. " _Yes_ ," he says slowly, drawing out the sound. Mocking. "A hit. It went out shortly after the train robbery. I know it was not you!" he adds on hastily, holding a hand up before McCree, who is already leaning forward, mouth open, can get a word out. "I was in the States anyway, carrying out another job. I was not lying about being there for work; it was purely coincidence that I ran into you. But you were there, and drinking, and I thought it would be an easy fight."  
  
McCree frowns. "But it wasn't." He's on edge now, knowing that this man had been in that bar with every intention of killing him. For all he knows, that could be Hanzo's intention now. He’s suddenly much more aware of the weight of Peacekeeper tucked into his jeans. It’s comforting. McCree has no doubt in his own skills; if it comes down to it (which he hopes it won’t), he knows he'd be able to end the fight before it begins. He would really like to avoid civilian casualties, though. Not to mention avoiding unwanted attention from the local police, or even Helix...  
  
But that leaves one question. "So why didn't you do it, then? Take me out back and shoot me?"  
  
At this, Hanzo looks away, scratching at his beard. McCree can't tell if he's imagining a pink flush spreading over Hanzo's face or not; the lighting in here is just this side of too dim. "Ah. Well... I do not usually sleep with targets."  
  
Yep, that's definitely blushing. McCree's eyebrows shoot up, and he leans forward with a cocky grin. "No? And why's that? Seems to me the easiest time to slit someone's throat is right after they've been fucked. Get ‘em while they sleep, right?"  
  
This makes Hanzo's face go even more red. "I have my reasons." His tone leaves little room for questions, though McCree's mind burns with them.  
  
He decides to go back to the topic at hand. "So, you ran in to kill me, but changed your mind 'cause you don't sleep with targets. Which means..." McCree grins slyly and leans forward even further, metal elbow leaning on the table. "I literally charmed the pants off ya."  
  
Hanzo groans and buries his head in his hands. McCree's Japanese is rusty at best, but he's pretty sure he can make out the words, " _Should have taken the money._ "  
  
"Yeah, probably." He leans back again and takes another sip of his latte. The foam is starting to recede now. Not as good. "But you didn't, and now here we are."  
  
"Here we are." Hanzo lifts his head out of his hands, and he stares at Jesse curiously, head tilted to the side, no doubt wondering where he learned Japanese. But he doesn't ask, thankfully, because McCree really does not want to explain he learned from Hanzo's dead brother. In part, anyway. A lot of it was field practice, so to speak.  
  
McCree sighs. He itches for a smoke. "So. You're an assassin, then, and there’s a hit out on me plus a sweet little bounty for bringin’ me in. That mean you're gonna do me in this time?” He grins in spite of the situation; things are not looking good if Hanzo does, indeed, plan to try and kill him in the next few days, but he can’t help but slide a little innuendo into his speech. He still dreams about a dragon coiling around him, inside him, taking over and devouring him until he begs for release. He wonders if Hanzo does, too. “Hope you'll at least wait 'til the job's done."  
  
Hanzo scoffs again, but this time it's more like a laugh. McCree swears he can see the slightest beginnings of a smile until it twists into something else entirely. "I told you. I do not sleep with targets."  
  
He stares at McCree through half-lidded eyes, that same sultry smirk from months ago back in place. And if that ain’t a promise, Jesse McCree doesn’t know what is.

 

\-----

 

They do not leave the café together.  
  
It isn’t surprising to either of them, since they are both jetlagged as all hell. Jesse can see it in Hanzo’s eyes, the way the dark circles seem just a little bit too pronounced, and he’s sure Hanzo can see it in the sag of his shoulders and the drag in his step. It’s for the best that they don’t linger long; they need rest.  
  
But the way Hanzo had eyed him… there was room for something there later, he was sure. So he goes back to his hostel (unexpectedly posh, but then again, this is one of the most prestigious cities in the world) and contents himself with his hand and the idea of dark eyes watching him before he gets some much-needed shuteye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	3. Practice and Propositions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the short time they have before the mission proper, Hanzo and McCree get reacquainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gettin' into the good stuff now! This chapter got a little bit long so I've split it into a few parts. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Enjoy ♥

The conference is three days after the meeting. That gives the whole security team, official and unofficial, three days to figure out the lay of the land. It gives them three days to find escape routes and alleys and good vantage points; three days to learn about each other and get used to different fighting styles. Three days to drink and dine and see the sights in their downtime, if they so choose.  
  
McCree spends some of that time learning about Hanzo. He learns that Hanzo uses a bow, and that that had been what was in the guitar case when they'd first met ("I bet you can't even play the guitar," McCree had said. He had been right, and then jokingly offered Hanzo some lessons, which the archer had declined by telling McCree he would rather have some other kind of lesson.). He also learns that Hanzo can climb walls like a fuckin' gecko. He'd let out a low whistle the first time he'd seen it, and hadn't quite gotten over the image of powerful arms dragging that wonderfully toned body up and over a fourteen-foot ledge.  
  
Coupled with the memory of those same arms around him, McCree has had a lot of restless nights.  
  
He’s able to keep those thoughts in the bedroom, however. Professionalism was never really McCree’s thing, but he can still separate work from play. So when they run formation with the rest of the mercenaries late at night, when most of Oasis is either tucked in or distracted by pulsing music and rowdy crowds and sweet liquor in posh pubs, McCree can pretend they really are just two people who don’t know anything about each other past paltry introductions.  
  
It’s hard, sometimes. He knows too much to be comfortable now. He still isn't sure he trusts Shimada (who could trust a man who would kill his brother, then lies about who he is?), but he can’t let that get in the way of them working together. They’re meant to be stationed at different points, anyway, so it hardly matters to begin with. Hanzo is patrolling the perimeter with two other snipers, and McCree is inside the building proper, playing backup to the official guard. If things go the way they’re meant to, they won’t even have to see each other during the mission.  
  
It’s a little disappointing, really. Jesse was quite looking forward to seeing Hanzo in action.

  
  
\-----

  
  
He stands in one of the hallways the day before the conference begins, shadowing a tall Helix guard as he goes over the patrol route. McCree is supposed to stick to the crowds and keep himself looking inconspicuous, so he doesn't quite need to know the patrol routes for himself. This is just a formality, so he knows where to look if he needs to report in.  
  
He barely pays any attention.  
  
Helix is pretty strict about their rules and regulations, meaning they expect a full report the instant somebody sees something unusual. McCree doesn't exactly agree with them on that front. Years of working with Blackwatch has taught him that he can't rely on backup if things go south in a flash. He doesn't expect to need to report in, anyhow; Helix has a reputation to uphold. They're either going to keep the bad guys away or shut 'em down before they get any ideas. That's the plan, at least.  
  
He hears another voice approaching. It's coming from up ahead, around the corner. He can hear the _clunk, clunk_ of boots more than he can hear whoever's speaking. The guard he's with doesn't pause to wave as another Helix official walks past, tailed by Combat Boots. She catches his eye, puts a hand to her throat, and sticks her tongue out. McCree grins and tips his hat. He thinks he'd rather be getting choked to death right about now, too.

  
  
\-----

  
  
He leaves the building alone and lights up as soon as he steps foot into the fresh air. McCree takes a much-needed drag on his cigar (a thick, fancy thing he'd picked up in a classy little souvenir shop the day before) and practically groans with relief. "Mm. Needed that."  
  
He doesn't make it two steps before something flies past his head. Something fast, like a bullet, but there's no noise to accompany it. It's too big to be a bug, and there's no telltale buzz in his ear. McCree's first instinct is to draw his gun and aim it in the direction the thing came from. He almost shoots a warning shot before remembering where he is, and figures it's best he doesn't make a scene. His eyes narrow as he does a quick scan of the area, checking for anyone or anything that might look suspicious.  
  
It takes a moment before he accepts that there's nothing there, and the tension lessens his shoulders. McCree straightens up, but his hand does not leave the gun. He does one more scan of the area before backing up slowly, then chancing a glance over his shoulder to see if whatever it was that nearly hit him is still there.  It is.  
  
"Oh, for the love of--" He huffs, then bends down to retrieve the arrow embedded in the immaculately-kept grass (that he really shouldn't be standing on). He holds it up and waggles it in the air. "This belong to you?"  
  
He sees a head poke out from over a roof and grins in spite of himself. "Ha ha, funny. Y'know you coulda killed me, right?"  
  
Hanzo's whole form emerges from where he had apparently been crouching. He looks incredibly smug up there, way up out of McCree's reach. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have. I was aiming for the sign behind you."  
  
Sure enough, two halves of a sign are on the ground right where McCree had picked up the arrow. Putting them together, they would have said _"KEEP OFF THE GRASS."_  
  
The cowboy raises an eyebrow and chews on his cigar. "A'right, I'll bite. Why?"  
  
"Because I could."  
  
Hanzo steps to the edge of the rooftop and hops off. It's a good ten feet or so, but he falls gracefully, gold tails flying out above him, catching the light just right. He lands flawlessly, not even a roll to right himself, and McCree hates him a little bit for it. "Show off."  
  
"Mm." He steps forward with the slow _tap, tap, tap_ of metal on concrete to accompany him, right to the edge of the perfect lawn. He stops there. "You are also standing on the grass, which the sign clearly says you should not be doing. I thought to get rid of it before your blatant disrespect got you in trouble."  
  
"Oh! Well, how kind of ya." McCree tips his hat, and for good measure stomps his foot just to make sure he's really crushing up that grass good. He even digs one of his spurs in for effect, bringing it back up with dirt clinging to the metal. Hanzo lifts a hand to his mouth, trying to hide the grin his eyes can't. _Seriously?_ is what he doesn't say, but the crows feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes and the way he can't quite conceal his smile say it all the same. It makes McCree grin back in turn, and give the grass one last whiff of a kick in response before he finally steps off it.  
  
McCree takes his time getting off the lawn, taking long, languid footsteps and making sure the heel of his boot digs in hard enough to leave an impression. Hanzo watches with his arms crossed, playing at irritated, but the amusement in his eyes continues to betray him.  
  
McCree makes it to the edge of the lawn and steps off the grass, onto the concrete. From one threshold to another. "So," he says, when he's finally face-to-face with Hanzo properly. "Call it whatever you want, but really, you were just showin' off."  
  
Hanzo closes his eyes, drops his hands to his sides. The smile is clear now, though he lowers his face so McCree can't look him in the eye. Shyness seems foreign on him. "I was."  
  
"Well, can't say I'm all that mad 'bout it, I suppose," McCree admits. "Been hopin' to see you in action for a while now."  
  
"Is that so?" Hanzo asks, brow raised. He's loving every second of this, every second of knowing McCree is reacting exactly how he's planned.  
  
McCree's being played and he knows it. But damn if he doesn't enjoy the game.  
  
"Yep." He takes a puff of his cigar and pulls it from his mouth. He notes the way Hanzo's eyes track the movement, and blows a stream of smoke off to the side. "Doesn't quite compare to what I had in mind, though."  
  
Hanzo flinches, eyes wide. Shocked. McCree figures he's probably surprised to hear someone tell the great Hanzo Shimada that he wasn't as good a shot as he thought he was, especially because he'd just demonstrated otherwise. But Hanzo doesn't look mad. McCree thanks his lucky stars for that, otherwise he might have an arrow stuck in him now too.  
  
"This ain't exactly the scene I had been hopin' for," McCree continues, voice low and slow and almost tentative. He's testing the waters now. Hanzo is silent, but tense. His eyes bore into McCree's own, and not for the first time McCree finds himself thinking he may be dealing with a dragon after all. "Was hopin' I could see you in a real fight. You know, work up a sweat. See you in the thick of things."  
  
Hanzo's posture relaxes minutely, but his brow is still furrowed. "You want to... fight me?"  
  
"What? No!" McCree holds up his hands in front of him, trying to wave away the misunderstanding. He thinks of Genji, then, the fights that they would have in training and the fight that brought Genji to Blackwatch in the first place. Genji broken, bloody, torn to pieces and sewn back together with wires and metal and miracles. Hanzo Shimada is not someone he wants to fight. Not now, and probably not ever.  
  
He snaps out of his thoughts suddenly, wrenched from the memories of Genji bleeding out on the floor by the sound of... laughter? Jesse blinks and looks at Hanzo, who is hiding his mouth behind his hand again.  
  
The son of a bitch is _joking_.  
  
When the realization hits, all thoughts leave his mind and he sags with relief. He lets out a nervous laugh too, unable to help himself. Hanzo shakes his head, and then he's the one to hold up a hand. "Apologies. I know what you meant. I simply wanted to see how you would react. However..." He steps closer, silently, so fluidly that Jesse isn't even sure Hanzo had moved at all until he can feel how close the archer is. "If it is a fight you want, I will not deny you."  
  
His voice is quiet, husky, full of promise. He does not mean a real fight. This is something else entirely -- the 'easy fight' he'd expected at the bar that had turned into something neither of them had expected. McCree finds himself leaning in subconsciously, stopping only when he realizes how dangerously close to Hanzo's face the burning tip of his cigar is. He's a little bit surprised Hanzo hasn't pulled away or flinched or coughed yet; the smoke floats in front of his face, trying to obscure it. There's no way he isn't breathing it in. But he holds the cowboy's eyes all the same, in spite of it.  
  
McCree grins. This man is dangerous. He's unfairly attractive. He could kill Jesse in a heartbeat and turn him in for money. But instead he stands here, staring him down, waiting for an answer.  
  
So McCree gives him one. He pulls back, shifts his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other, and laughs. "Only if y'take me to dinner first."  
  
Hanzo's eyes go wide again and his eyebrows shoot up almost to his hairline. He even takes half a step back, and McCree figures he's decisively won this round, just by the way Hanzo is briefly rendered speechless. He opens his mouth, plainly trying to find the words, but McCree interrupts. "Meet ya right back here after I get myself cleaned up a bit. One hour." He flicks his cigar into the grass and stomps it out, watching Hanzo gape at him as he does. _Damn_ does it ever feel good to wipe that smug grin off his face. McCree turns to leave and throws a finger gun over his shoulder with his metallic hand.  
  
"See ya later, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: date time!
> 
> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	4. Date and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree comes to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of set-up and a short breather before things start getting hot and heavy. And trust me, they will.

McCree gets back to the hostel in good time and in relatively good humour. That little exchange with Hanzo had gone well; he'd managed to take the assassin off guard and had somehow been able to score himself a date on top of it.  
  
That is the thought that gives him pause as he shuts the door to his room behind him. He'd scored himself a date.  
  
A _date_.  
  
With _Hanzo Shimada_.  
  
Hanzo Shimada, deadly mercenary and assassin that had, at one point, attempted to kill his own brother, and had initially had intentions to kill Jesse too. Telling that very same man that he was taking a former target to dinner is probably among the dumbest things McCree has ever done, and the list isn’t exactly short. He's not only leaving himself wide open for another, possibly more serious assassination attempt (not that he doesn't think he could handle Hanzo; McCree is certain he's quicker on the draw, at least), he's fraternising with someone he's working an important security mission with. And if his time with Overwatch has taught him anything...  
  
Fuck, this is a bad idea. But he can't help himself. He hasn't been this excited in ages.

  
  
\-----

  
  
He makes it back to the university just before the hour is up with a hasty change of clothes and little else. He hadn't had the time for a shower, so he'd settled for splashing his face with water and slathering himself with a little more deodorant. He wished he'd had some cologne or something to mask the smell of sweat, should that happen to come up. Oasis is hot this time of year.  
  
Hanzo is nowhere in sight yet, and when Jesse realizes this, he takes the extra minute he's been granted to run a hand through his hair and try to straighten out his clothes. It's a nervous habit he's never been able to kick, though it's been a while since the feeling last came to him. Years, maybe.  
  
He tries to think of the last time he had a date when he hears footsteps behind him. McCree turns to see Hanzo coming toward him, out of his battle gear and in something a little less bulky. His clothes are similar -- light and airy despite their dark colour -- and he (unfortunately) has both sleeves drawn up over his shoulders, but he looks a lot looser and less intimidating this way. McCree is reminded somewhat of meeting him for the first time in the bar, back when he was a completely different man, with no history and no significance past his pretty face.  
  
He has to remind himself _again_ that this man could kill him in a flash and not break a sweat.  
  
McCree grins and pushes the brim of his hat up with his index finger. "Howdy," he says, and Hanzo gives him a courteous bow in response. McCree laughs and rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Aw, no need t'be so formal, y'know," he says. "A smile would suffice."  
  
Hanzo straightens up and raises a brow. "And there was also no need for you to fuss over your appearance so much. You look fine as you are," he replies evenly, and Jesse blushes a little at that. Shit, had Hanzo been around the whole time? Had he been watching as McCree folded out the wrinkles in his shirt and brushed his bangs this way and that, trying to find the right place for them to sit? He probably had. In what little he's come to learn about Hanzo, he's figured out that Hanzo seems to enjoy always having the upper hand.  
  
... _Wait a sec_. McCree's thoughts come to a screeching halt as the implications of Hanzo's words settle over him. Was that a compliment?  
  
He's back to his charming self in a matter of seconds. "Gotta say, you're lookin' mighty fine yourself."  
  
"Hm." The tone is dismissive, but the way Hanzo looks away to try to hide his face is anything but. It’s hard to tell if he’s being coy because he's flattered or because he was the first one to throw out praise. McCree gets the feeling Hanzo doesn't do that much.  
  
"So," Hanzo starts, almost begrudgingly, and McCree jumps back to attention. "Where am I taking you, then?"  
  
...Oh. McCree bites the inside of his cheek in place of a cigar as he thinks. He had been so taken with the _idea_ of going on a date that he hadn't actually given much thought to where they should be going. He's not spent a lot of time wandering the city proper, choosing instead to stick to the streets and avenues closest to the university. He knows nearly all the ways in and out and has nearly memorized the layout of the campus itself, but anything beyond that is lost on him.  
  
The silence says enough to Hanzo. He frowns deeply. "You did not think this through, did you?"  
  
McCree holds his hands before him in surrender. "It was more of a spur of the moment thing," he admits. "Wasn't all that sure you'd show, t'be honest."  
  
"Why would I not show up?" Hanzo tilts his head to the side, curious. "Messy and crude as you might be, I enjoy your company."  
  
"Oof! Now if that ain't the most backhanded compliment I ever did hear." McCree rolls his eyes. "You sure it's my company you like? I get the feelin' you've been angling for somethin' else."  
  
Hanzo's smirk returns and he shrugs. "There is time for that later. After the mission."  
  
It's McCree's turn to raise an eyebrow now. "So that _is_ what you want?"  
  
"I enjoyed it last time," Hanzo says simply. "If you are open to the idea, I would not mind a repeat performance. But it is not why I am here."  
  
"You're here because you really do just enjoy my company, then?" It's not quite a question. McCree's arms are folded in front of his chest as he eyes Hanzo suspiciously. The archer stares him right in the eye, pausing for just a half-second too long. McCree gets the distinct impression he's being assessed.  
  
"Yes," Hanzo answers at last. "You were right. Somehow, you were able to-" he raises his fingers and curls them to make air quotes, "'charm the pants off me.'"  
  
McCree guffaws loudly. Tonight is gonna be all right after all.

  
  
\-----

  
  
They end up leaving the university campus to wander the streets nearby. McCree points out every route he's familiarized himself with since getting here, detailing which ones are the best escape routes for them and what the enemy is most likely to use.  
  
"And how do you know that?" Hanzo asks at one point, when McCree points out the mouth of an alley almost completely hidden by potted plants and ivy growing off walls.  
  
"What?" McCree asks. "Where troublemakers are most likely to scurry off to if things get hot?"  
  
"I would hardly call Talon troublemakers," Hanzo sighs, "But yes."  
  
McCree can't help but laugh. Then, with the biggest shit-eating grin he can muster, he turns to Hanzo and tips his hat. "Let's just say I was a bit of a troublemaker myself back in the day."  
  
For a moment, Hanzo looks taken aback, and he opens his mouth as if to protest, but McCree interrupts: "Not like Talon, though. A little closer to your area of expertise."  
  
Hanzo snaps his mouth shut immediately.  
  
The silence between them is tense for a moment (that was probably too far), but then McCree says, "Only meant we come from the same places. Gangs -- you know. I ain't no yakuza prince, but I managed to make a name for myself all the same. Bounty as big as I've got, you've gotta do somethin' bad."  
  
Hanzo is silent. His jaw works as he mulls over what to say next. McCree waits patiently. They do not look at each other, even as Hanzo finally says, "I see."  
  
He'd been hoping for a little bit more than that, but McCree doesn't let the disappointment show on his face. He pulls a cigar out of a box he keeps in his pocket and lights up – the only tell he’ll give. "So how much you got, then?"  
  
It's another few seconds before Hanzo answers. His eyes are trained ahead of himself, but he doesn't look focused at all. McCree wonders if bounties are the only thing on his mind right now. "I am not sure."  
  
The cigar is pulled from McCree's mouth, and he exhales smoke to the side as he studies Hanzo. "No?"  
  
"No. There is a price on my head, but it is not the same as the bounty on yours. The men and women that come for me are trained and hired specifically to kill me. Nobody has put out a hit on me for just anyone who wants it to take up. My family..." He sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. Atlas, running from his sins. "They do not do anything half-way. If they want me dead, they will find the best assassin they can to kill me."  
  
The words weigh heavy on McCree's mind. Hanzo Shimada has done some terrible things. He killed his brother. He continues to work as an assassin. McCree doesn't know much about what the man's targets might be like, but he's willing to wager not all of them deserve what they get. Hell, he's taken out more than his fair share of men and women that didn't deserve it. Less so now that he operates solo, without the words of a gang or a strike team or any sort of authority in his ear, but the point remains. He's trying to work toward forgiving himself for everything he's done, and balancing out his sins with justice. He doesn't know if the same can be said of Hanzo, but he does know that the former head of the Shimada family is here now, beside him, trying to protect innocent people, instead of in Japan, dealing drugs and arms and killing people for looking at him funny. He hasn't been head of the Shimada in nearly a decade.  
  
Jesse would know. He had been there when Blackwatch had infiltrated the Shimada for the final time. He had been there when Genji had demanded to see his brother and had cut down the man who told him Hanzo had been gone for months. When Genji had cut down anyone and everyone standing in his way.  
  
There had been so many bodies. So much blood. Genji had spared no mercy for the family that had taken everything from him.  
  
"Shit." McCree puffs on his cigar, once twice thrice in quick succession, then tosses the butt onto the ground and stomps it out with the toe of his boot. His spurs _clink_ against the concrete. Hanzo's family is trying to kill him. At least the people after him don't know him personally. There's a certain freedom in the cool detachment of having a bounty rather than a hit on his head.  
  
Or there was. He's pretty sure that's not the case anymore, if Hanzo was telling the truth about the hit.  
  
"Guess we've got a bit more in common than I thought," Jesse says quietly. He catches Hanzo nodding in the corner of his eye.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
It's quiet between them again, the only sound coming from people walking along the streets, shouting and laughing and talking. Normal people going about their normal lives, unburdened by the weight of their own pasts. None of them likely know the feeling of having to look over their shoulders at every turn, wondering if a gun is about to be pressed to the back of their head. Or maybe a sword, in Hanzo's case. None of them leave a trail of blood behind them as they go about their business.  
  
He decides to lighten the conversation a little bit, pull it off of Hanzo and back onto himself, if only to wipe the melancholy look from the archer's face. He looks so much older like this, so much more tired and weary. It's the same look Jesse has seen on himself every time he thinks about how much he hates running.  
  
"So who sent it out, then?" he asks. When Hanzo looks up at him, confused, he elaborates: "The hit. Who wants my head so bad they can't wait for the bounty hunters to catch up t'me?"  
  
"Ah." Hanzo looks away again, frown less rueful than frustrated now. "I... do not know."  
  
The coughing and spluttering McCree succumbs to has nothing to do with smoking. "You -- what? You gotta be kiddin' me."  
  
"I am not," Hanzo insists. His brows are still furrowed, defensive and defiant now as he stares up at the cowboy. "There was no name given when the contract went out. All it said was what I would be paid if I was successful, and that I was not the only one who had been contacted."  
  
"And you just -- you accepted it? Without knowing who sent it out?"  
  
"No. I never accepted the contract. If I had killed you that night, I would have tried to get in touch with the client."  
  
"Shit," McCree repeats. "So you got no idea who's got it in for me then?"  
  
"I do not."  
  
"Huh." That's not the most comforting thing to hear. Jesse has made a fair amount of enemies in the past few years, especially after leaving Blackwatch. Back then, his misdeeds hadn't been personal. He'd been one face among many, just doing his job. But now... now he was flying solo. Anyone he left alive would know exactly who had done them wrong.  
  
He feels Hanzo's eyes on him for a good few minutes before either of them says anything else. He doesn't particularly care he's being studied; he'd been giving Hanzo the same look mere moments ago.  
  
"If it makes you feel better," the assassin starts, slowly, "I refused the offer right after I left you that morning. I deleted it and all contact information as soon as I realized it could not be traced."  
  
McCree smiles in spite of himself and tips his hat to Hanzo. It does make him feel a little better. "Thank you kindly."

 

  
\-----

  
  
They continue along, the air a little bit lighter between them now as they trade happier stories and experiences. McCree talks about the time he actually did rob a train and never got caught for it, and Hanzo nearly doubles over in laughter. Hanzo tells Jesse about some of the places he's been, and how annoyed he was to find the best bowl of ramen he'd ever had was in Hong Kong rather than back home in Japan.  
  
It's partway through that story that McCree's stomach growls loudly and they both realize that they've been out on this dinner date for nearly two hours without even looking for a place to eat. They met just before the sun began to set, and now it's little more than a pink stripe on the horizon.  
  
They make their way into the heart of the city centre, searching for a place to eat. There's no shortage of restaurants, but they still have a hard time picking one. Oasis is full of high-end restaurants, and though what Helix is paying them is enough to cover it, both Hanzo and McCree have gotten used to living without the luxury of an expensive meal, so they agree there's no need to indulge in that tonight. McCree may be calling it a date, but he doesn't plan on really romancing Hanzo. He made his impressions on the man long ago, and knows he simply has to bring up the idea of sex to know he's getting laid tonight. There's no need for any pomp and circumstance.  
  
Hanzo seems to feel the same way. Every restaurant they comes to fails to impress. In the end, they end up buying samosas and dolma and kebabs off street vendors. They eat as they walk, continuing their conversation between mouthfuls.  
  
"See, this is all I need," McCree says as he tosses a skewer into a nearby bin. "City as fancy as this, it's good to know they got food for the common folk too."  
  
Hanzo nods, mouth too full of food to say anything. His eyes turn and catch something off to the side, and McCree follows his gaze to a window with breads and cakes and pastries in it. A man moves in and out the door, carrying chairs and tables from outside back in. It looks like the shop is closing, but Hanzo can't look away.  
  
McCree smiles sheepishly, unseen, and slaps a hand on Hanzo's shoulder. "All right, c'mon then. Let's see if we can catch 'em before they close."

  
  
\-----

  
  
They manage to catch the bakery just ten minutes before it closes. McCree tries to pick out his dessert quickly, and settles on a sweet, sticky bun with dates in it. Hanzo surprises him by buying half of what they have left, and snacking on it the moment they leave the shop.  
  
"Never figured you for havin' a sweet tooth," McCree admits as he watches Hanzo pop his fourth _kleicha_ into his mouth. Hanzo wordlessly offers him the bag, opting once more not to speak with his mouth full, and the cowboy takes one.  
  
"Mm!" He's surprised to find he likes it as much as he does; Jesse has never had much of a sweet tooth, and he always did prefer bolder flavours to things like this. "Nevermind, I take that back. You've made a believer outta me."  
  
Hanzo swallows and smirks. "Good."  
  
Between the two of them, they manage to finish off every last crumb of Hanzo's pastries before they make it back to the hostel Hanzo is staying at. They almost walk right past it, they're so caught up in conversation. When Hanzo does notice they've arrived, he reaches out to touch McCree's arm and halt him.  
  
"This your stop?" Jesse asks, looking up at the building. It and the surrounding area look pretty familiar; he must have passed by it on the way to his own hostel. Hanzo nods.  
  
"A'right then." McCree rubs the back of his neck and shifts awkwardly in place. He isn't sure if he should ask to come in or not. He wants to. Wants to so badly. He swallows and looks down at Hanzo, acutely aware of the hand still on his arm. "Guess I'll... see you tomorrow?"  
  
Hanzo starts, and for a second his eyes go wide before he knits his brows together. "Are you… not coming in with me?"  
  
Jesse can feel the blush spreading across his face. "Ah... that okay?" he asks, but he already knows the answer, so he isn't quite sure why he's protesting. "The big day's tomorrow, so I wasn't so sure you'd want..."  
  
Hanzo scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I will hardly lose any sleep over this. I am quite certain I will sleep better, in fact."

 

 _…Oh._ He steps up closer to McCree, places a palm on his chest. The wicked grin McCree has dreamt about for months spreads over Hanzo's face, and he leans up, almost too close for the cowboy to look at without crossing his eyes, but he can't draw his eyes away from Hanzo's lips. "If you do not want to... If you do not want me..." His voice is husky, quiet; McCree knows in that moment that there is nothing he wants more than to hear it in his ear, saying his name over and over again as their bodies move together, grind against the bed or the wall or any surface they can manage to hold themselves against. "Then you may leave. But I..." That hand traces upward, leaving a tingling trail as it moves up to clench in the hair at Jesse's temple. "...want you."  
  
Jesse swallows hard, closes his eyes. He can feel Hanzo's face move closer (is he standing on his toes to reach, McCree wonders), and subconsciously leans down, but Hanzo lets go before their lips meet and steps away.  
  
He opens his eyes and stares right into Hanzo's. "What are we waitin' for, then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating jumps way the hell up next chapter. ;)
> 
> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	5. Back and Forth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night comes to an end. History repeats itself in some ways, and is rewritten in others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes WAY UP this chapter. (they bang.) If smut isn't your thing, you should probably skip this one. Don't worry; there's no plot stuff in here. 
> 
> This chapter got absurdly long compared to the others so far. Oops.

Hanzo's room is on the second floor, one short flight of steps up that feels like it takes forever. McCree follows behind Hanzo, happy to let him lead the way if it means he gets to watch him climb. The baggy pants are doing him a damn disservice, but it’s hard to mind too much when he’s still got such a nice view in spite of that.   
  
Hanzo catches him looking once when he glances over his shoulder. He says nothing, but the roll of the eyes and the twitch of his lips say everything all the same. McCree winks at him.  
  
It's not long after that they find themselves in front of Hanzo's door. As soon as he unlocks it, he ushers McCree inside. He hears the door shut behind him just as he opens his mouth: "Nice place you got--hey!"  
  
He doesn't have time to complete the thought before he's dragged back and pressed up against the door. Hanzo's palms lay flat on his chest, and he leans forward, right in McCree's personal space.  
  
"Howdy." His voice drops, low and sultry, as he places his hands on Hanzo's waist and starts to rub circles with his thumbs.  
  
"Hello," Hanzo says. McCree doesn't need to see the sly smile to know it's there -- he can hear it in the man's voice. Hanzo rises, standing on his toes, and takes McCree's bottom lip between his teeth, a sweet, heady mockery of a kiss. He tugs, gently but insistently, and McCree knows then that is helpless to resist. He leans into it, following the pull and breathing heavily through his nose.  
  
Hanzo lets go. There’s only a moment’s pause before hey both lean in again and kiss as if it's the last chance either of them is ever going to get to taste each other. It's slow and soft and indulging, neither one wanting to let the moment end. But when it eventually, inevitably does, everything changes: McCree presses quick, hungry pecks at Hanzo's lips, kissing once, twice, and almost a third time, but Hanzo catches him with fingers in his hair, under his hat and knocking it askew. He holds him in place, lips massaging McCree's open so he can run a tongue along the cowboy's teeth. McCree moans low in his throat and opens his mouth wider to let Hanzo in. He presses impossibly closer, leaving no room between them.  
  
They break for air again only breifly before they're back on each other. McCree's hands run up and down Hanzo's back as the archer nips at his jawline, sucking at the tender spot below McCree's ear where his scruffy, unkempt beard begins. The cowboy sucks in a shaking breath through his teeth, hands clenching in the soft fabric of Hanzo's shirt. It takes every ounce of concentration he has to reach up and tug at it to expose Hanzo's shoulders, but he manages somehow, and soon the obi is gone as well, slipped off and clutched between metal fingers. Just the slightest shift and the shirt falls open, parting to reveal the perfectly toned chest and abs McCree has been thinking of for months. The sleeves of the kyudo-gi slip down to Hanzo's elbows and Hanzo pulls away, letting McCree finally, finally take a look.  
  
And look he does. Hanzo is flushed the perfect shade of pink, from his cheeks down his neck. Hair is beginning to come loose from where he's tied it up; the ribbon falls over his shoulder haphazardly, gold silk standing out against the blooming blue storm clouds and the dragon's shining tail.He looks dishevelled, somehow, despite the fact that they've hardly even started. His eyes are half-lidded as he spreads his arms wide, slowly at first to let the sleeves slip off completely and give McCree a perfect view of stretching, flexing muscle.  
  
He's showing off again. And McCree hates to admit it, but he doesn't think he'll ever get enough.  
  
McCree steps forward, just away from the door, eager to touch. He places his hands on Hanzo's chest, fingertips just barely touching the heated skin. He traces them down to rest just above the waistband of Hanzo’s hakama.  They’re slipping a little bit, giving McCree a nice, teasing glance of the trail of hair leading to Hanzo’s groin. It’s nothing he hasn't seen before, and up close at that, but damn if it doesn't get his cock twitching eagerly all the same.  
  
He can hardly believe he's here, again, standing in front of Hanzo Shimada, eagerly waiting to be fucked senseless.  
  
Hanzo catches him staring and tangles his left hand in the hair at the nape of Jesse's neck to force him to look him in the eye. The dragon's face is buried in McCree’s hair, and he wonders what it would be like to feel the dragon’s whiskers scratch against him. Probably like Hanzo's beard, scratching and scraping against his when they kiss.  
  
He shivers. He wants to feel that again.  
  
"Enjoying yourself?" Hanzo whispers -- practically hisses -- at Jesse, almost more dragon than man. But his voice holds no malice or contempt; he simply sounds amused. Like he knows the  answer already. Like he knows the power he holds over McCree.  
  
The bastard probably does, too.  
  
"Yeah." McCree’s voice is little more than a breath. His throat constricts around everything he wants to say, wants to demand of Hanzo: s _top teasing, stop waiting; kiss me, touch me, fuck me. I want to be yours._ But no words need to be said: Hanzo gives in to one unspoken demand and reaches down to press a palm against his clothed dick. McCree twitches in Hanzo's hold and practically sobs. He shamelessly thrusts into it, silently asking for more. The archer lets out the most delicious noise at that, apparently satisfied with the reaction.  
  
"Is this what you want?" he asks, pressing his palm more firmly against the seam of McCree's jeans. McCree nods, not trusting his mouth to form the words, but Hanzo, damn him, seems to understand anyway and smirks up at him. "Really..."  
  
The hand leaves and McCree sags, falling back half a step and leaning against the wall. Hanzo simply watches. Observes. Roves his eyes up and down McCree's body, no doubt drinking in every last detail. McCree almost wants to show off under the scrutiny, but he's having a had time thinking straight, let alone standing up on his own two feet. Hanzo seems quite satisfied just staring, anyhow, and makes no move to resume where he'd left off.  
  
"Darlin', please," McCree whines at last. "Quit teasin'."  
  
"Hm." Hanzo simply crosses his arms in front of his chest and stays where he stands. It's clear he has no intent to stop teasing Jesse -- at least not yet. His eyes rove up and down McCree's body once more. It is definitely not just his imagination this time that Hanzo's gaze lingers on the bulge between his legs. “I have a better idea,” Hanzo mumbles, one hand drawn up to stroke at his beard as he contemplates whatever no-doubt wicked thought has crossed his mind. Jesse opens his mouth to ask what that ‘better idea’ is, but he’s stopped when Hanzo shifts, looking back up into McCree’s eyes with resolve. "Though it hardly seems fair I am the only one exposed right now..."  
  
Jesse swallows thickly and nods, message read loud and clear. His hands are at his collar immediately to unbutton his shirt.  His eyes never leave Hanzo, who is watching with rapt attention. McCree misses a few buttons  at first, but gets them in the end. His shirt is still off in record time.  
  
Hanzo’s pupils are blown wide and dark. He takes in every inch of newly-exposed skin with hungry eyes and steps forward. The archer’s hands twitch at his sides – he wants to touch, that much is clear, but for some reason he’s holding himself back.  
  
“Somethin’ wrong, sugar?” He teases, his own hands coming up to rub at Hanzo’s arms, trying to coax the assassin into touching him properly. Hanzo doesn’t bite, though, and looks down.  
  
“Not at all.” Hanzo hums and leans up, close enough to kiss, but he stops shy and lets his words ghost across McCree’s lips: “That is not exactly what I meant, though.”  
  
“Then what…” McCree’s hands still and his eyes go wide as realization dawns on him. “Oh.”  
  
“Mm.” Now Hanzo finally touches him, blunt nails ticking at the skin just above McCree’s belt. Jesse shivers.  
  
“Now come on, darlin’, if that’s what you wanted, you know all y’had to do was ask.” His voice shakes just the slightest bit and he hates himself for it, but it’s almost worth it for the way Hanzo licks his lips. He’s still close enough to Jesse’s lips that the cowboy can feel the tip of Hanzo’s tongue against them.  
  
“I thought I had.” McCree’s mouth snaps shut with a _click_ of the teeth. “But I can see you still need some help…”  
  
With no more warning than that, Hanzo bites at McCree’s lip. It leads to a quick and dirty kiss that leaves Jesse reeling. He notices that his belt has been undone and popped open only when Hanzo pulls away and sinks down to his knees.  
  
He knows what’s about to happen. The thought alone makes McCree’s legs wobble. He braces himself against the door and brings his flesh hand up to clutch at his hat, while the metal one presses lightly against Hanzo’s shoulder.  
  
“Shit. Hanzo, you sure? You don’t have to—”  
  
But the button on his jeans is already open, the zipper held between Hanzo’s fingers and dragging down slowly. Hanzo looks up, almost annoyed, and says simply, “What makes you think I do not want to?”  
  
That shuts McCree up. Fingers hook in the top of his jeans and in the waistband of his boxers, and Hanzo tugs them down. He continues, smirking as McCree’s cock is exposed, to say, “You did it for me last time. I am simply repaying the favour.”  
  
He bows his head forward and kisses at the base of McCree’s dick. McCree closes his eyes and swears he sees stars twinkling behind his eyelids. “That all this is, then? Just repayin’ a debt?”  
  
The flat of Hanzo’s tongue runs along the underside and Jesse bites his lip to stop himself moaning. It doesn’t quite work. When Hanzo reaches the tip of his cock, he presses a kiss to it. “No,” he whispers. “That is not all. I admit I have been… thinking about this. Since I saw you again in that meeting room.” He trails kisses back down toward the base, where one hand has wrapped around Jesse. “Before that, even.”  
  
“Yeah?” Jesse breathes. He’s not sure if he’s speaking out loud or not. “Tell me more.”  
  
“Yes.” Hanzo pulls back, pauses to stroke McCree’s cock with his hand rather than his tongue for a moment. “I thought of you quite often after I left that day,” he murmurs. McCree’s knees go weak as Hanzo kisses the tip of his dick again, then pulls the head into his mouth and sucks on it gently. He isn’t sure if it’s that or the words or the tone those words are said in that have him swooning like a schoolgirl, but he doesn’t much care. Hanzo pulls off again and laughs when he notices McCree’s eyes have opened and he’s being stared at. He runs a thumb over the slit, smearing spit and precome over the head. “I thought about how much I enjoyed it. How much I enjoyed _you_.”  
  
“Shit, Hanzo…” McCree’s chest rises and falls as he stares down at Hanzo and the archer leers back up at him. He opens his mouth to say something, but this time the words really do not come to him. Instead he sags against the wall and lets Hanzo have his way.  
  
Hanzo licks at him again. “I thought about fucking you.” His voice is little more than a growl, rumbling from deep within him. “How you felt wrapped around me. Your hands, your mouth… everything. But most of all…” He grins up at Jesse, mischievous and pleased and seductive all together. “…I thought about this.”  
  
And with that, no more words are said. Hanzo takes him in as far as he can in one swift motion, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose as McCree’s cock hits the back of his throat.  
  
McCree cries out, but quickly brings his arm up to his mouth and bites down in an attempt to muffle himself. Hanzo’s eyes are open and watching him, analyzing again, but that barely registers in his mind. All he can think about is _yes_ and _more_ and _perfect_ , and yet in spite of the desperation quickly creeping up on him, McCree manages to keep himself mostly still. He still has enough presence of mind to worry about hurting Hanzo. Because while he _really_ wants to push the assassin’s limits, grab him by the hair and fuck into his mouth without a care in the world, he would also rather not have to explain things to Helix if Hanzo ends up choking to death.  
  
He laughs, but it comes out as a strangled whimper. Hanzo huffs through his nose as he pulls back. It’s almost laughter, too.  
  
The distraction is short-lived. Hanzo swallows him almost whole again, and this time McCree can’t help but thrust forward into the wet heat of Hanzo’s mouth. His hips jerk once, then twice, before he forces himself to stop. Hanzo grunts around him, brows furrowing as he gazes up at McCree.  
  
_Shit_. Had he gone too far?  
  
Hanzo rolls his eyes as if he’d sensed McCree’s thoughts. He reaches up with both hands and places them on McCree’s hips. Fingers dig into the flesh there and flex, kneading. Soon those powerful arms are moving back and forth, coaxing McCree’s hips to move with them, forward and then back again, slowly, then faster, more powerfully.

 _…Oh._  
  
“Shit, you want it bad, don’t you, honey?” McCree laughs again, high-pitched and unlike himself, but he can hardly believe what he’s seeing – or feeling, for that matter. Every time Hanzo pulls his hips forward, his cock seems to go impossibly deeper, Hanzo’s tongue seems to reach just that little bit further.  
  
It takes a bit of effort and readjustment, but soon with one small shift, Hanzo changes the angle and manages to pull McCree into his mouth completely. He stops there, pauses, neither of them breathing as his throat spasms around McCree's dick. His eyes, squeezed shut with the strain, open slowly and turn up to look at McCree. There are the beginnings of tears forming in the corners, and Jesse reaches down to put a hand in Hanzo's hair, trying to soothe him or push him deeper or pull him off so he doesn't hurt himself too bad over this, but damn him, the archer manages to _smile_ around his cock, and that's the last push McCree needs before he's coming hard in Hanzo's mouth. He doesn't see it, head thrown back and eyes rolled back, lost in orgasm, but Hanzo's eyes go wide and he pulls back and forces McCree out. He splutters and coughs around the little bit of cum he'd ended up swallowing while the rest ends up on his face or in his hair or splattered on the floor beside him.  
  
Hanzo catches his breath and stops trembling shortly before McCree rights himself. He's still coming down from the high of orgasm, but he has just enough presence of mind to sink down to his knees in front of Hanzo and reach out to him. He cups the assassin's face in his flesh hand while the other rests on his shoulder, and he thumbs a drop of cum from the corner of Hanzo's lips.  
  
"Shit, honey, darling, I'm sorry," he apologizes, words coming out in a rushed, hoarse whisper. "I didn't mean -- caught me by surprise--"  
  
But Hanzo only laughs. He wipes his face where McCree missed on the back of his arm and shakes his head. "It is fine," he says, and if McCree hadn't just come as hard as he did he wouldn't have been surprised if Hanzo's scratchy, wrecked growl of a voice got him going all over again. A man had no right to sound like that. "I was... also caught off guard."  


"Well no shit." McCree laughs too in spite of the situation. Hanzo seems to be fine, and isn't angry (as far as he can tell). It's definitely a relief, and yet...  
  
The hand on Hanzo's shoulder trails downward, over his collarbone and his chest and his stomach, to trace a circle on his thigh. Hanzo is still very obviously hard. McCree isn't sure he can manage another round so soon, but that doesn't mean he can't get the archer off in other ways.  
  
Hanzo seems to get the implication and gazes at him with a raised brow. "What are you doing?" he asks. As if he doesn't already know the answer.  
  
"Don't seem right for me t'be the only one gettin' off here," McCree says. "Figure I should return the favour."  
  
Hanzo shifts subtly as the hand moves inward, sighs as one finger traces along the bulge in his pants. McCree laughs as Hanzo's eyes flutter closed. "You really do want it bad, don't ya?" Without fully realizing it, he shuffles closer, close enough to feel some of Hanzo's heat against his bare skin. The archer cracks one eye open and does his best to smirk, but the effect is ruined somewhat by the shaking breath he exhales as McCree squeezes.  
  
"You... have kept me waiting." Hanzo's voice is a deep rumble now, lower than it was even just a moment ago. It sends chills down McCree's spine. He wants to lean in closer, hear that voice right against his ear.  
  
"Have I, now?" He moves without thinking, slowly nudging into Hanzo's space. Their noses almost brush. He can feel Hanzo's breath in uneven bursts, stronger every time he moves his hand. The man is so far gone now he doesn't even try to hide it when a moan frees itself from his throat. McCree can't help the noise he makes in response, somewhere between a whimper and a moan of his own. "Fuck, Hanzo... "  
  
Another ragged breath falls from Hanzo's lips. He leans forward, seeking contact; McCree leans away. "C'mon, baby. Tell me how bad you want this." His hand speeds up, then slows down again when Hanzo bucks up into it. "Ah-ah. Not yet."    
   
Hanzo's teeth  _clack_  together and he hisses through them. He curses under his breath, which serves only to make McCree grin with delight. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that. What'd you say?"    
   
The archer says something else, just barely audible and probably in Japanese. McCree chuckles darkly and squeezes Hanzo, hard, just shy of painfully. To his surprise, it just makes Hanzo thrust his hips up harder and more insistently. He presses down again, quickly, and pulls his hand back just as abruptly as he'd pushed it down. Apparently, that's too much; Hanzo lets out a strangled groan and practically leaps forward, shoving McCree to the ground and pinning him in place. His face is contorted in what may have been mistaken for fury by anyone else, but McCree knows a desperate man when he sees one.    
   
Despite the fact that he's beneath a man that could crush him with one arm, and under normal circumstances, would, McCree is grinning like a maniac. He wishes he was still wearing his hat, just so he could tip it. "Well, howdy there, handsome. Somethin' the matter?"    
   
"Infuriating man!" Hanzo presses his hips down, ruts shamelessly against McCree's groin. The gunslinger sucks in a sharp breath at the wave of pleasure that courses through him. He hadn't realized until now just how hard he'd gotten again.    
   
The split second pause is enough to get Hanzo smirking in triumph. Damn him. "I said..." he leans down, ghosts his lips over the shell of McCree's ear, and whispers, "That I was growing tired of these games. That it is time we fuck  _properly_."    
   
A shiver winds its way along McCree's spine. Hanzo bites at his ear and pulls back just enough to get a good look at the cowboy's face. He cants his hips forward again, rocking them steadily against McCree's, while McCree takes one of Hanzo's cues from earlier and guides the movement with his hands on his hips. Soon, however, Hanzo is swatting him away and climbing off him.   
   
McCree is undeniably disappointed by the removal of contact, and the whimper he can’t bite down says it loud and clear. Hanzo, however, does not acknowledge him as he moves to the other side of the small room and bends down to get something. It’s hardly the first time Jesse’s been treated to such a great view of the other man’s ass, but he’s grateful all the same. He wishes Hanzo were closer, close enough to touch. To smack, maybe.    
   
So he stands, intent on fulfilling that particular desire, but Hanzo straightens up and turns just as he does. He toes off his boots (surprisingly deft despite how closely they hug his legs) and steps forward, loosening the belt of his hakama with one hand and pushing down the last layers of clothing between him and McCree. He lets the fabric fall from him to pool at his ankles and steps over it, uncaring.  
   
McCree swallows hard as Hanzo stops right before him. A bottle and a condom are shoved into his hands, and, puzzled, he looks down at them for half a second before frowning at Hanzo. “Thought you said you were gonna fuck me proper?”    
   
Hanzo shrugs with one shoulder. His lips quirk up in half a smile. “I never said anything of the sort.”    
   
He reaches up to thread his hands through McCree’s hair. The cowboy gives him a withering look. “That ain’t true at all, honey. You definitely did say  _somethin_ _’_  like that.”    
   
“Am I not allowed to change my mind?” Hanzo leans up, standing on his toes. He kisses, a soft sweet peck on the lips, but doesn’t move far after. “Of course, if you would rather not fuck me…”    
  
 “Now hold on there.” McCree pushes Hanzo back lightly with his free hand. It lingers on his shoulder and he rubs the skin gently in small circles and long, wide strokes. “If that’s what you want, I ain’t about to say no.”   
  
Instead of speaking, Hanzo just pushes himself forward again and kisses McCree hard. Everything gentle about their last kiss dissolves in a flash of tongue and teeth and in a tug at his hands, leading him forward step by step until Hanzo stops. They pull apart, and as McCree tries to catch his breath, Hanzo moves like a flash around him to shove him down onto the bed. The noise of surprise McCree makes is swallowed by another searing kiss as Hanzo climbs on top of him and straddles his hips, resuming the steady rhythm they had fallen into earlier. It’s all McCree can do to drop the condom and lube on the bed beside them and grab onto Hanzo, flesh and metal fingers digging and kneading into the assassin’s back. He bends his legs, bringing them up to wrap around Hanzo’s waist and pull him closer. Both of them are moaning shamelessly into the heat of the kiss, every sound eagerly and greedily swallowed up.   
  
Hanzo shuffles. One hand leaves its place on McCree’s neck and takes hold of the cowboy’s hand. He guides it down, lower, over his shoulderblades and down past his waist until McCree can get a nice, ample handful of his ass. He groans and twitches in place, torn between thrusting forward for more friction on his cock or back into the hand massaging his backside. McCree grins into the kiss, and that’s what it takes for the assassin to pull back and slump forward, trying to catch his breath. It doesn’t take him long. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Whatever the case, he’s right there at McCree’s neck and biting down, sucking hard.   
  
Jesse yelps at the sharp pain, but he doesn’t try to pull Hanzo off. Instead, he encourages him with a hand on the back of his head, holding him in place. Hanzo’s hair is soft and damp with sweat. McCree tugs on it, pleased by the whimper he gets.   
  
“Feels good, don’t it, sugar?” he breathes. Hanzo makes a noise but doesn’t leave his spot. Maybe he nods his head; it’s hard to tell, McCree is so focused on everything else. He hardly even notices when suddenly one of Hanzo's hands meets his again, this time just skimming over the skin briefly as McCree squeezes. His fingers are wet.   
  
The gunslinger snaps back to the moment immediately. He already knows what's going on, but he still finds himself whispering, "What're you..."  
  
"You... ah... s-still need my help, it seems." Hanzo's voice shakes as he slips a finger inside himself. He arches his back, inadvertently pressing his bare chest, sticky with sweat, to McCree's as he tries to get more comfortable. Jesse watches his face in wonder, every twitch of his brows and flick of the tongue over swollen lips. He traces every trickle of sweat with his eyes as it makes its way down Hanzo's temples, over sharp cheekbones and into his beard, feels every trembling breath as Hanzo tries to steady himself.   
  
Delayed, he lifts his hand from where it's still holding Hanzo's ass to try and grope around for the lube so he can help. Hanzo shakes his head and growls. "No," he grunts. "Let me."  
  
His tone leaves no room for argument, so although McCree would really, really love to help prepare and stretch Hanzo out, he doesn't say anything. Both hands are soon back on his ass anyway, spreading his cheeks apart, partially to help the archer, but mostly because he can't resist touching him. If nothing else, he knows Hanzo must like it too, since he's pushing back into it so enthusiastically.   
  
Eager though they both are, it still takes a few minutes before Hanzo relaxes enough to add another finger. McCree kisses him on his forehead, his cheeks, his temples, his chin, his lips - anywhere he can, trying to soothe him, relax him. Through the discomfort, Hanzo somehow cracks a smile. "Ridiculous..."  
  
"Can't a man show some affection?" McCree grins wildly and, with no other warning, smacks Hanzo's ass with a resounding slap. He cries out in a mixture of pain and surprise; he jerks upward, back curving obscenely, and for a split second McCree feels guilty before Hanzo's yelp dissolves into a long, low moan and he practically melts.   
  
"Mm, look at you. Musta really liked that, huh?" He pets over the swell of Hanzo's rear and resists the urge to slap him again, but he drums his finger against the skin just to remind the archer that he could. Hanzo can do little more than let out a breathless laugh. "Yesss..." He's slumped forward, the curtain of his bangs obscuring his eyes, but a sliver of his pleased smile peeks out between them. He jerks again, suddenly, entire body jolting, and he attempts to swallow another moan to no effect. "F-found it."  
  
McCree doesn't need to ask to know what 'it' is. The way Hanzo's cock drips precum onto his stomach tells just about the whole story. He leans up on his elbows, smirking, and nips at Hanzo's ear. "Then hurry up, sweetheart. Much as I'd love to get you to come all over me too, I'd rather this not end too quick if you catch my drift."  
  
"Haaahh..." Hanzo swallows thickly and nods while McCree goes back to holding him open. Hanzo's fingers move in and out of himself once, twice, and some effort he adds one more, and that seems to be enough for him. He straightens his back to sit up, still riding his own fingers, and with his free hand picks up the condom and hands it to McCree. "Put it on."  
  
The cowboy laughs and takes it, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth so he can keep one hand on Hanzo. He rolls it on quickly as he can, even though he misses the first time. He's too busy watching the roll of Hanzo's hips, the bounce of his cock as he moves, to pay attention to his own hands. But he gets it eventually, and when the condom is on, his eyes trace up the winding dragon tattoo and over a broad shoulder to deep, dark eyes. "Ready when you are."  
  
Hanzo needs no more encouragement. He grabs the lube and drizzles some more on his hand to spread over McCree's dick, and then shifts over his lap. With a smirk, he reaches behind himself once more with both hands to spread himself open and sink down onto McCree's cock.   
  
It isn't smooth or easy for either of them - McCree has a hard time keeping still and not just thrusting himself up mindlessly into Hanzo, and Hanzo has to pause every few inches to take deep, shuddering, steadying breaths and to adjust to the stretch of having someone inside him. Even with the preparation, he's tight enough that McCree is willing to bet it's been a while since Hanzo has let anyone fuck him like this.   
  
Hell, he's a little bit honoured.   
  
Hanzo stops moving once he's seated fully on McCree, breaths coming in and out unevenly. He opens his eyes after a moment to stare fondly at the cowboy, and sweep some of his hair back out of his eyes. "All good?" McCree asks as he runs a hand up Hanzo's flank. He licks his lips, unabashedly enjoying the shiver that elicits.   
  
"Never better." The strain in Hanzo's voice says otherwise, but he starts moving anyway, a slow roll of the hips all around just to get a better feel. McCree swallows a loud groan. He'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to have someone wrapped around him like this, ready and willing and eager to ride him. It's been a while since he's fucked anyone like this, too. Yet another thing he and Hanzo have in common, apparently.   
  
He's only just starting to adjust when Hanzo lifts himself up slowly, almost off his dick entirely, and then drops back down much faster than before. He hisses through his teeth and Jesse can't quite tell if it's in pain or pleasure or both. He doesn't get a chance to ask, either, because Hanzo does it again, and again, and again, faster each time.   
  
"F-fuck, sugar, you sure you're not the one fuckin' me - nnngh - after all?" He trembles beneath Hanzo and moves his hands around the archer's waist to rest on his hips. His fingers tense up and relax in time with every downward thrust. Hanzo takes one hand and presses it against McCree's knuckles, pushing him to dig his nails in. He sighs contentedly when Jesse scratches at him.  
  
"Like it rough, huh?" He doesn't expect a response, but he gets one anyway when Hanzo pushes down impossibly harder. The archer stills then and tosses his head back to breathe deeply through his nose. He's bracing himself for something. McCree isn't sure what, exactly.  
  
"Lift your hips," Hanzo commands, and without even thinking of asking why or trying to be playful or defiant, McCree does as he's told. Hanzo lets out a quiet "Ahh" of pleasure (or maybe relief) and begins to roll his hips forward and back. He bites his lip. His nose wrinkles and brows furrow in concentration. McCree puts a hand over his own eyes, trying to shield himself from the sight. Hanzo is beautiful, perfect; he looks amazing poised on his cock like this, back arched and skin shining with a thin layer of sweat. But that's exactly why McCree has to force himself not to look -- if he stares to long, he isn't sure he'll be able to stop himself from coming again, just as he had when Hanzo had smiled around his dick.  
  
Apparently, Hanzo will have none of that. He leans forward, inadvertently forcing McCree deeper inside him (or maybe that was on purpose, too), and wrenches the gunslinger's hand from his face. "Look at me," Hanzo growls. "I want you to watch me as I ride you. I want to see what I am doing to you. What you are doing to _me._ "  
  
And who is he to argue with that? McCree nods frantically, mindlessly. "Yeah, yeah, o'course, anythin' you want--"  
  
"Good." Hanzo takes another deep breath through his nose (much more shakily, this time), and leans back again. He puts his weight on his right arm while the left one drags over his own stomach and up his chest, dragon dancing in the wake of Hanzo's hand. And while watching Hanzo grope himself is a sight that Jesse knows he's going to be seeing in his dreams, it isn't quite enough.  
  
"Oh, darlin', let me, please," he moans, not even caring how close to begging he sounds. His hands come up and hover over Hanzo's chest. He waits for a few agonizing seconds before Hanzo finally nods his consent, and removes his own hand to make space for McCree's.  
  
Jesse can't contain the whimper that leaves him as he gets two perfect handfuls of Hanzo's pecs. Hanzo exhales softly and his eyelids flutter shut. He rolls his hips again, slower and more deliberate this time, over and over again until he tenses and his breath hitches.  
  
McCree grins. "Found it again, huh?" He squeezes hard and Hanzo is helpless against the moan that bubbles from his throat.  


"Mm-hm..." He swallows and laughs. "I hope you're ready, cowboy."  
  
Before he can even ask what he's meant to be ready for, Hanzo lifts himself up and thrusts back down, just as hard as he had been before, and rocks his hips back and forth quickly. He doesn't lift up off McCree's dick again, not completely, and McCree can feel the head of his cock pressing against _something_ inside Hanzo. He lets out a weak laugh -- of course Hanzo is trying to massage his own prostate, using him as a means to that end.  
  
Bu fuck if it doesn't feel good anyway. It isn't enough to send him over the edge, not right now, but it definitely isn't slowing him down. He hardly cares. Hanzo's clenching down around him, tightening just marginally with every tilt of his hips. He must be close.  
  
"Come on, baby, come for me," McCree whispers just as Hanzo wraps his own hand around his cock and starts to stroke it. His movements are quick and unrefined, so unlike everything else he had done tonight. Definitely close. McCree licks his lips in anticipation.  
  
"W-where do you want it?" Hanzo stutters, voice strained and a slightly higher pitch than normal. It's almost cute.  
  
McCree grins. "Anywhere you want, darlin'," he says, trying to sound less affected than he is. It's harder than expected: Hanzo is just the perfect sight right now, tense and tight above him. His hair is loose and tangled with sweat, his face flushed and eyebrows knitted together; his hand moves rapidly on his own steadily-weeping cock, precum dripping down it and pooling on McCree's stomach.  
  
"There -- fuck!" Hanzo hisses as he comes, body tensing and hand slowing as his cock pulses and spurts white ribbons across McCree's torso. McCree groans and lifts his hips again, thrusting into Hanzo to help him ride out his orgasm and to push himself closer to his own. To his credit, Hanzo doesn't stop moving, and resumes his previous pace as he bounces up and down on McCree's cock despite how much he's shaking.  
  
"Yeah, that's it, sugar, keep -- just a lit-- a little more --" McCree gasps and writhes beneath Hanzo, unable to keep his own pace as orgasm rapidly approaches. His fingers spasm on Hanzo's chest and his toes curl at one last, hard thrust downward. He comes then, wordlessly and almost soundlessly, spilling himself into the condom without bothering to pull out. Hanzo stills above him, body going limp as he sags and gives into his own exhaustion.  
  
McCree lies there for what could be a few seconds, could be a few minutes. He can feel himself softening inside Hanzo, feel the archer move subtly as he tries to catch his breath, but he doesn't think about it until Hanzo finally pulls himself off of McCree and rolls down to flop on the bed beside him.  
  
They turn to face each other lazily. McCree smiles and reaches out to pat Hanzo's shoulder, and the assassin huffs a short laugh. It’s nice, friendly, comforting. Comfortable.  
  
Nothing else is said between them as they drift off into sleep.

  
\-----

  
  
McCree wakes to the sound of running water. When he opens his eyes, he doesn't see Hanzo. The clock on the nightstand reads just after midnight. It's not as late as he thought.  
  
"Probably for the best," he mumbles to himself. McCree groans as he sits up and stretches; he's still got the condom on, and there's dried cum on his chest. He's a little stiff, besides. It's a satisfying stiffness, though, and he can't find it in himself to complain about how gross he feels.  
  
He walks over to where his pants lay on the floor, crumpled and in a heap, and pulls them on. The water shuts off as he redresses, and Hanzo steps out of the adjacent room in nothing but a towel draped over his shoulders, catching most of the water dripping from his soaked hair, but not all of it: some still drips onto his chest, trickling down enticingly. McCree almost wants to lick the drops up, but three times in one night is a little much.  
  
"Morning, sunshine," he says, and Hanzo bites back a laugh.  
  
"You said that last time, too."  
  
"Did I?" He can't remember much of the first morning they woke up together before their second round of sex. He doesn't remember much afterward, either, past the dread that had washed over him when he had realized just who he had been fucking.  
  
"Yes." Hanzo laughs again, a quiet and almost shy sound as he goes to pick up his own clothes. He pulls his hakama back on while McCree stuffs his arms into his sleeves. They're both quiet, and it's a little bit awkward, because though he doesn't want to admit it, McCree knows the same thing is on Hanzo's mind as is on his own.  
  
Eventually, he caves and says it out loud: "I should go."  
  
He wants Hanzo to disagree. Wants him to say no, let him stay the night, let him share his bed. But he doesn't. Hanzo is quiet for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, chewing the inside of his lip as if trying to find another way to say what he needs to. But he, too, bites the bullet and says, "You should."  
  
Jesse sighs. "Yeah." He doesn't want to. He wants to ask Hanzo to come back with him. But they both know it's a bad idea. He picks up his hat and dusts it off, resigned to hitting the road and riding off into the sunset like any cowboy worth his salt (ignoring that the sun set hours ago).  
  
"Well... see you later, I guess," he says, and tips his hat to Hanzo. He turns and reaches for the door, and just as he twists the knob, he feels a hand catch around his wrist.  
  
"...It is for the best," Hanzo says. "We must both be up early tomorrow for the mission. But..." He looks down at his feet and shuffles awkwardly on his feet again. "Perhaps after..."  
  
McCree turns around. A smile breaks out on his face, slow and small at first, but growing wider. "After, then," he says, and pushes forward to kiss Hanzo's cheek. He slips from Hanzo's grip and opens the door, casting one last tip of the hat to the archer before he leaves. "G'night, darlin'."  
  
Hanzo smiles. "Good night, Jesse McCree." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> winky face ;)
> 
> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	6. Jobs and Assignments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conference begins, and with it comes the entire reason McCree is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that got long enough to split. We're into the real plot and action now, folks. 
> 
> (And if you're still here after the smut: Thank you. ♥)

When McCree gets back to his room, he showers off, brushes his teeth, and heads straight to bed for what little sleep he can get. He's up again too soon, crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn, torn away from the storm clouds and the shimmering blue dragon circling him in his dreams. They dissipate before he can dwell on them and he dresses quickly, mind already being pulled away from the hickies on his neck to the day's mission.  
  
The conference is meant to go on for two days and is set to start at 10:00am sharp and run until approximately 7:00pm. There are going to be a few short breaks in between, whenever the participants decide to call a recess. Helix will be notified when those breaks come, and McCree and the other mercenaries will be alerted in kind. While Helix plays bodyguard to the world's leaders in human-omnic relations, McCree is going to be keeping a sharp eye out for anything they might miss. If there is anything, that is.  
  
He lights a cigar as soon as he leaves the hostel. He really hopes he's wrong about Talon.  
  
The only stop McCree makes on the way to the university is for coffee and a meagre breakfast. He thinks about Hanzo and his pastries as he chews on his croissant, but quickly forces the man out of his mind. He has to focus today. If what he expects to happen does happen, then he'll need every ounce of concentration he's got. He's here to chase leads, after all. To find answers. And Talon, if they're here, have got those answers.  
  
Or so he hopes.

  
  
\-----

  
  
Everyone is in position long before the days' events are set to begin. People are already gathering outside the conference room, reporter and student and spectator alike. All protestors are being kept outside, though there are few. Nobody takes them seriously, anyway. Even Helix is barely keeping an eye on them. McCree hopes the others are a little savvier than that, but even he doubts anyone dangerous is bothering to protest openly like that.  
  
No, the real danger will come from the people who actually seem interested.  
  
He stomps out his second cigar of the day before heading inside. He catches sight of Hanzo on a nearby rooftop and waves, though he doesn't wait to see if he gets a wave back. He's sure Hanzo has seen him, in any case; he's got a very distinct manner of dress. He's decided to stick to that today, spurs, serape and all, rather than attempt to lay low. If anyone's going to recognize him, they'll recognize him with or without the hat. At least this way any Talon agents that know him will also know who to run from.  
  
He takes his position in the hall outside the main conference room. Combat Boots catches his eye from across the hall and smirks at him. She points to her neck and laughs, and McCree instantly slaps his metal hand to where he knows his hickies are on display for all the world to see. She laughs again and points in the distance; Missing-Ear stands at attention at the far exit, and her neck is also littered with bruises. Combat Boots winks.  
  
"Well I'll be damned." He grins and tips his hat to her, and she smiles smugly in response before moving to her post.  
  
McCree counts down the minutes in his head as he watches the clock on the wall. Ten minutes. Nine minutes.  
  
Eight.  
  
Seven.  
  
Cameras start flashing. People start to move. The low murmur of the crowd crescendos as the guards posted on either side of the hall's main door step aside and they slide open to admit a train of a dozen or so people and omnics, all immaculately dressed in suits and blouses and saris and slacks. They're flanked by two Helix guards at each end of the train.  
  
Now would be the time for something to happen. McCree narrows his eyes at the crowd, scanning every individual in his line of sight for anything suspicious. Weapons, ear pieces, anything. About the most suspicious thing he sees is a student with a medical mask on, but he looks like he's actually fighting off a cold, so McCree pays him no more mind than that.  
  
Nothing happens. The speakers all file into the room and the doors shut behind them. A holoscreen overhead flickers on, showing everyone taking their seats and shaking hands and pulling out papers and talking amongst one another before things officially begin. The voices in the hall die down again as an omnic stands and greets the rest of the guests.  
  
McCree doesn't bother to listen. He's all for human-omnic cooperation and coexistence, but this is far from his area of expertise. All he cares about for now is getting the job done and chasing down his lead.

 

  
\-----

 

  
Time passes. Students trudge through the hallway every hour moving from one class to another, occasionally stopping to watch and listen to the people on the screen. They've got a lot of good ideas, and some not-so-good ones -- ones that would have Torbjorn cussing up a storm. And those are just in the first hour.  
  
It's interesting stuff, but the people lingering outside the halls are more interesting. Most of the initial crowd is gone now, leaving only reporters and photographers and sound crews waiting for the first break. A few more groups have appeared since the event began, all between classes so their setup goes smoothly. But there's one that McCree notices after the rush goes by that wasn't there before.  
  
It's just past noon. The first break is probably about to be called. McCree turns on the comm in his ear as he eyes one of the men in the new crew warily. He's kneeling in front of an open box and talking to one of the other reporters in the group.  
  
"McCree here. Got a question for you folks on the outside." He pauses and waits for a response.  
  
"Sala here." He recognizes the voice as the man who gave the debriefing. "What's going on?"  
  
"Oh, good, the man in charge. There're a bunch of reporters all waitin' around out here. They have to register?"  
  
"The major stations and papers do, yes. A couple big bloggers and streamers did, too, but you can't stop every indie that comes in."  
  
"Right. But I ain't askin' about indies right now." McCree's mind is racing. He itches for a cigar to help him work through his thoughts, but he's pretty damn sure nobody's going to let him get away with lighting up in a place this nice. "There're about a dozen groups of reporters here. How many're registered?"  
  
A pause. "...Nine."  
  
"Mm. So either some of 'em are indie, or some of 'em are up to no good. You got anyone up high enough to scope out parked vehicles?"  
  
"Yes." Hanzo's voice, low and smooth, flows directly into his ear. "There are three of us patrolling the  roofs here. What are we looking for?"  
  
"Crew cars," Sala says. Seems he's picked up on what McCree hasn't yet said. "Armoured cars. Anything that might seem out of place at a university."  
  
"Got it in one." McCree resists the urge to tip his hat. He knows nobody who matters is watching, and the people that are don't need to see him broadcasting the conversation he just had. The man checking the box looks up and catches McCree's eye. His brows furrow, like he's searching for something. Like he's trying to figure something out. McCree is sure his own expression is much the same right now, though he tries to school it. Something doesn't feel right about this guy.  
  
The man's lips move. He backs up without breaking eye contact with McCree. Heads to the door. The rest of the crew are watching him now, too. McCree finally looks away and heads for the door closest to himself. If he's remembering this right, this door and the one the reporter had backed into both lead into short, curving hallways that open into another atrium. When he's out of everyone's sight, he taps his earpiece again. "Found me someone shady. In pursuit now. Hey, keep an eye on that crew by the east entrance, will ya? Four of 'em left. Just got here, so none of their equipment's set up yet."  
  
"McCree, where--" Sala's voice comes online, but it's interrupted by Hanzo.  
  
"We have spotted something," he says, voice low and troubled. McCree can almost see the scowl. "Two blocks away, three vans. Armoured. There are armed men inside. It looks as if McCree was right."  
  
He doesn't bother to suppress the smug smile that blooms across his face. Nobody's gonna see it, anyway. "My guy's probably headed there now. Direction?"  
  
"Northwest. They are near..." Hanzo mumbles something under his breath in another language, too quiet to make out over the communicator.  
  
"Astronomy." A woman's voice. McCree doesn't recognize it. "Opposite direction from where you're headed."  
  
Where he's headed? She shouldn't know where he's headed. Can she see him? There are no windows in this hall, so how...? He grunts, "How'd you know--"  
  
"Left Tit here's got a couple cool tricks up his sleeve," The woman says, a hint of laughter in her voice.  
  
"I told you, my name is Hanzo--"  
  
"But I bet you know _aaaaaall_ about that, huh, cowboy?"  
  
McCree sputters, thoughts racing. First, he wonders what these 'cool tricks' are. Second, he wonders just how much of a gossip Hanzo is if one of his squadmates is teasing him about their fling. Then, finally, McCree hopes that these 'cool tricks' of Hanzo's aren't showing everyone that his face is the same colour as his serape. He decides not to dwell on any of those thoughts for now; he'll have to ask Hanzo later if the man's had him bugged or has been spreading shit. Frustrating, yes, but there are more important things to worry about right now.  
  
He pushes open the door to the atrium. There's a small crowd here, students talking and milling about, but McCree is able to pick out his target easily. Then it clicks -- the guy looks familiar. McCree has seen him somewhere before. Years ago. But the flashes come, clear as day: cleaning weapons, strapping into carriers, drinking and laughing and jumping to attention when the big boys came to visit...  
  
Blackwatch.  
  
"Shit." McCree picks up the pace. He can't put a name to the face, not yet. The guy casts a glance over his shoulder and moves quicker, weaving in and out of crowds of students. He fights the flow, runs for the door. But McCree follows. He may not be as agile as he was ten years ago, but he knows how to close distance quick all the same.  
  
The man throws the doors open and runs outside. McCree follows.  
  
"He's outside, heading for Astronomy!"  
  
"Team B, go! Now!" Sala's voice barks over the comm line. Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse catches sight of a few Helix guards leaving heir posts. They'll cut the man off before he can get to the rest of his crew, before they can --  
  
_BANG_.  
  
Screams from the people gathered outside. Gunshots. People drop. McCree whirls around without thinking to see what's going on, pulls Peacekeeper out of her holster and looks for the source of the shots.  
  
People have flung themselves to the ground, arms over their heads. Looks like nobody's hurt. McCree pushes the relief that comes with that realization to the back of his mind in favour of scoping out the shooter. He finds a woman with a gun trained on him. Two more a distance behind her, but Helix is already on them. Nobody bothers to come for the woman. They must figure he's got her under control. He's inclined to think they're right. McCree raises Peacekeeper and aims it right between her eyes, but doesn't fire. He grins instead. "O'Hare! Well I'll be damned! Long time no see!" He calls out to her. She scowls. "What's it been? Seven years? Eight? How're the kids?"  
  
"Wouldn't know. Not seen 'em in years. Not since Blackwatch went under." Her arm doesn't waver.  
  
McCree slips his hat off his head with his left hand, holds it to his chest. His right still points the barrel of his gun right in O'Hare's face. "Well, shoot. Sorry to hear that."  
  
"What are you doing here, anyway? Hypertrain not enough for you?" Behind her, the Helix guards have wrestled their targets to the ground and stripped them of their weapons. Others are herding crowds away, forcing an evacuation. There are throngs of people rushing in waves around them, pouring out doors and into the pavilion.  O'Hare backs up a step, moves toward them. She isn't backing away because she's scared of him, though. He can tell; this is calculated.  
  
McCree laughs. That's another one from his playbook.  
  
"Naw, that was an accident. Just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time." He doesn't move to follow her as she takes another step back. He just reaches into his pocket, pulls out a cigar, and sticks it in his mouth. "Lot like you, actually."  
  
"You don't--"  
  
_BANG_.  
  
She drops dead, falls backward into the crowd she had been trying to blend in with. McCree holsters his gun with a twirl, pulls out his lighter, and takes a long puff of his cigar. "Sorry 'bout the kids. But they're better off not knowin' what their mom's been up to."  
  
People scream around him. The crowd, which until now had been moving together as one, breaks up and scatters as figures clad in black move among it, faces obscured by helmets and arms laden with guns. Talon's cover has been blown; they're all coming out of the woodwork now. There are far more than he expected; many more than three armoured cars' worth.  
  
Sala's voice cuts over McCree's thoughts: "Cut them off! Take them out where you can, but keep gunfire to a minimum! I don't want to hear about any civilian casualties, understand?"  
  
A chorus of "Yes, sir!" Sounds over the line.  
  
"Roof teams, find where they're coming from. Snipers, group with them, take out whoever you can, and provide cover fire. I want these terrorists _put down_."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Comes the repeated response. McCree doesn't hear Hanzo in it. He doesn't have time to worry, though.  He has a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: return of the Moody Archer. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	7. Revelations and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree's run into a lot of old friends on this mission. Now it's time to meet someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the ACTION bits. As always, enjoy! ♥

He runs.  
  
Sala’s orders roll around in his head as he moves. Keep gunfire to a minimum. Take out the enemy. Secure the building. Keep the people safe. McCree chews his cigar and grins, embracing the wildfire burning in his lungs and in his heart.  
  
He’s never been good at following orders and he knows it. Not to the letter, anyway. His orders here are to take out as many Talon operatives as he can without getting any civilians in harm's way. And while he agrees with the spirit of the order, he has never once considered 'taking down Talon' to be his job. That's one for the big boys -- for Overwatch. But now that he's gotten one answer, he needs more. Always, always more.  
  
Sala’s orders are quickly replaced with a mantra of what he knows, what he’s learned. It isn’t much, and he can admit that freely to himself, but it’s everything he knows and understands, the first few steps in solving this puzzle and putting an end to the last of his ghosts.  
  
_Blackwatch was corrupt._  
  
Blackwatch was shut down.  
  
Blackwatch didn't die.  
  
Blackwatch was absorbed by Talon. 

_Blackwatch is here._  
  
But that just raises more questions. How long has this been going on? Who is still around? What are they doing? Who's in charge?  
  
He doesn't have the time to think about it. The answers are here. And he’s so, so close to them.  
  
That drive and the excitement running through him is what leads him away from the firefight currently going on outside the university. Talon is shooting at Helix, and Helix's forces are torn between ushering bystanders to safety and firing back. His gun is up and out, finger on the frame and ready to fire if he needs to. It feels right. It feels like back in the good old days, back when he was young and reckless and the sharpest and cleverest shot in the unit. It’s a feeling he’ll never be able to forget or leave behind, no matter how old he gets.  
  
It makes him feel _alive_.  
  
"Flow of soldiers have stopped. A couple vehicles taken out."  
  
"Looks like there are still some by Astro -- oops, not anymore!"  
  
"They're inside! Building's on lockdown, should be easy to pick 'em off now!"  
  
“Still some out here, boss! We’re working on it now!”  
  
“Roof teams, stay where you are and patrol the perimeter. Everyone else, inside!”  
  
McCree’s cigar moves from one corner of his mouth to the other with a twist of the lips, a flick of the tongue. “No can do, boss,” he mumbles under his breath, not bothering to use the line. He heads in the opposite direction of where he’s meant to go, toward the Astronomy building. That’s where his gut is telling him his answers are. It’s a gamble, but he’s always been pretty confident in his own luck.  
  
He runs. Runs for the building, right out in the open. It’s a stupid move, not looking for cover, and he knows it -- just doesn’t care. It works out for him anyway, when a couple of faceless, helmet-clad agents spot him and fire freely. McCree rolls and fires off two shots, getting them right in the head, right where he assumes the bridge of their noses is.  
  
He grins. “Heh. Always was good at drawin’ a crowd.”  
  
He doesn’t stop to bask in his success for long. Others are almost definitely on the way, and the vans are just up ahead…  
  
He feels something rush by and graze his leg. When he looks down, McCree sees a tear in his chaps, just above the knee. Small, but it’s smoking. A bullet.  
  
“God damn it, these were my favourite!” he shouts. He spins on his heel, Peacekeeper at the ready, but he doesn’t see anybody… anywhere, really, let alone where the bullet had come from. There’s a bench, but the legs he can see peeking out from behind it are flat on the ground. Whoever is there is lying prone, probably dead.  
  
“What the…” His brow furrows and he looks around one last time before deciding that it must have been a last-ditch attempt to kill him from one of the shooters he’d just put down. He tries to shrug off the feeling of foreboding settling in his gut and keeps going. Just a little longer. “Coulda taken my damn leg off, son of a – fuckin’ hell!”  
  
He’s only halfway through turning around when a body drops down next to him, landing perfectly on two feet, knees bent just enough to take some of the pressure off. The suddenness of it startles McCree so badly he has to take a few steps back to stop himself falling over. He almost doesn't make it. The cigar he'd been smoking falls out of his mouth as he yelps in surprise.  
  
Hanzo straightens up properly and fixes McCree with a scowl. All business, as if he hadn't just scared the living daylights out of the cowboy. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Where are we…” McCree starts, half-dazed. “What d'you — What the hell, Hanzo?! You can’t just drop down on a man like—”  
  
“You went running off on your own and someone tried to shoot you. I was not able to kill him before he got a shot off, but any longer and it may have been your head.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I got that. Can take care of myself, thanks.” He lifts the brim of his hat with the tip of his gun and frowns. He doesn’t know why he’s irritated, but he can tell that was not the right thing to say when Hanzo’s scowl deepens.  
  
“Where are we going?” he asks again, voice sharper. McCree bites the inside of his cheek and scowls himself. He doesn’t have time to waste arguing, even though he wants to – who is Hanzo to try and tag along with him when none of this concerns him? – but he relents.  
  
“Checkin’ out those vans. Wondering if they’ve got any more intel on this whole operation.” He makes the motion to reach up for his cigar, but quickly realizes it’s no longer in his mouth, and that it lies, still smoking away, on the ground by his feet. He grunts and stamps it out. “Damn it, made me lose my smoke and everything…”  
  
He pulls out another and lights up. Hanzo rolls his eyes. “How you can smoke on a mission like this is beyond – Look out!”  
  
He draws back an arrow, aimed over McCree’s shoulder, but McCree is faster. He spins around and in the same second, the Talon agent on the roof aiming at them tumbles sideways off to land face-first on the ground.  
  
He makes a show of twirling his gun and blowing the smoke from the barrel, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. “See? Told ya I didn’t need any help.”  
  
Hanzo’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open, just slightly. He stares for half a second before he blinks and snaps his mouth shut with a _click_ of the teeth. He looks away from McCree – is that a blush on his face? – and rolls the arrow he still holds between his fingers. “Yes, well – if I had not seen—”  
  
“Shut up, Hanzo.”  
  
“…Right.”

 

\-----

  
They step around behind one of the vans. The windows are opaque -- no way to see in, no way to see out, unless there's some kind of camera set up. If there isn't, they're golden. If there is, then there's gonna be trouble. 

Doesn't matter if there is. McCree's always had a way of getting out of trouble.  
  
They stand there for half a minute, silent. Hanzo watches him, brows knitted, and McCree holds up a hand. _Wait._ He doesn't know if there's anyone inside it. He's willing to bet there is.  
  
Hanzo opens his mouth to say something, and McCree puts a finger over it, only a little glad the glove he's wearing dulls the warmth he can feel. They don't want to risk being overheard if they haven't been spotted yet.  
  
At Hanzo's indignant glare, McCree flashes a smile and pounds on the back door of the van.  
  
There's movement inside. They aren't alone.  
  
He hears a _click_ and the door opens. Another faceless Talon operative peeks his head out. There's no gun in his hand. Good. He lets out a short sigh of misplaced relief. "Finally, are we--"  
  
The agent cuts himself off when he realizes that it's not one of his buddies looking to be let in. McCree turns his charming smile on him instead and raises the brim of his hat. It's only polite to let someone see the face of the guy that's going to  kill them, after all.  
  
"Howdy!"

"...Shit."  
  
Two bullets. One in the chest, the other in the head.  
  
“Was that really necessary?” Hanzo asks. “You are a good enough shot only one would have been enough.” He nudges the body with the toe of his boot. “It seems a waste.”  
  
McCree twirls the revolver and shoves her back in her holster as the body drops backwards to the ground. "Insurance," he explains as he turns to Hanzo, still grinning happily, like he'd won some kind of game rather than shoot somebody dead just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hanzo says nothing. He doesn't need to.  
  
They poke their heads inside the van. Lots of machinery and screens are set up, but nobody else is around. That doesn't mean there isn't anyone in the others, though. "We should check the--"  
  
"I will." Hanzo pulls an arrow out of his quiver, taps it with his forefinger, and shoots it between the two remaining cars. Something lights up inside one of them -- a silhoutette at the driver's seat.  
  
Realization dawns. "So that's how you did it." Hanzo arches an eyebrow, and Jesse elaborates: "How you could see me in the hall before."  
  
"Yes," Hanzo says with a proud quirk of the lips. "We were using my arrows to survey everything."  
  
"Aw. And here I thought I was special."  
  
"Oh, you are."  
  
McCree whips around, face red. He opens his mouth and splutters, just barely managing to keep the cigar from falling out again. But before he can get any real words out, Hanzo runs off to the other van. The door on the opposite side opens and McCree is treated to watching the infrared silhouette of Hanzo and the Talon agent grapple. The Talon op throws a punch; Hanzo jerks to the side to avoid it and, with no time to draw and fire an arrow, whacks them in the head with his bow to knock them off-balance. He kicks them and they stumble backwards, tripping over something, and end up supine on the floor.  
  
Hanzo stomps on their chest. He stares down at it for a second, then walks out of the van. McCree notes the dark red tracks trailing after him.  
  
Hanzo climbs into the vehicle and clears his throat. This is just another day for him. "We were warned of your, ah... 'history.'" McCree blinks, trying to think of what he could possibly be talking about. That brutal display of power had driven everything else right from his mind. "Sala told my team to keep an eye on you specifically."  
  
Ah. What he means clicks into place with those words: he’s continuing the conversation from before. "So you're sayin' I aint special after all, and this is all part of the job."  
  
Hanzo hums, chews the inside of his cheek before answering. "Not at all. I was... interested in seeing you work." He looks away, and the light in here is too low to tell, but McCree swears he can see Hanzo blushing again. "If I simply wanted to follow orders, I would not be here with you right now."  
  
They fall silent. It's awakward, with McCree staring at Hanzo curiously, trying to puzzle out just what that's supposed to mean, while Hanzo is looking anywhere but at him. But before he can ask, Hanzo clears his throat and McCree snaps out of it. He turns to one of the screens illuminating the dark van and taps at it. As he scrolls through rows of text and icons, Hanzo comes to stand at his shoulder and watch.  
  
"What exactly are you looking for?"  
  
"Don't know yet," he lies. "Seeing what they have planned, I guess. And maybe -- ah, shit. Password."  
  
A keyboard comes up on the screen. McCree chews on his cigar as he thinks. He has a hunch about how to get into these files, but...

"There's no way they'd be that dumb..." he mumbles to himself as he types into the bar. _'DENIED'_ flashes across the screen. He tries something else.  
  
_'DENIED.'_  
  
McCree pulls the cigar from his mouth and flicks ashes off the end. He blows a stream of smoke out at the screen. This isn't Blackwatch. This is Talon. But everything else has lined up so far: the people, the methods...  
  
He types one more thing into the bar, a series of numbers and letters he's had memorized for years but has forgotten the significance of. An old password, a code used by nobody but the highest-ranking members of Overwatch. A code he had no right at all knowing then, and has even less of a right to now.  
  
The screen lights up. He's in.  
  
Next to him, Hanzo shifts. McCree doesn't see the furrow of his brows, but he does catch the mumbled Japanese. _"You knew..."_  
  
"Yep," he says back, but he's too busy scrolling through notes and blueprints to elaborate. He feels Hanzo lean in closer, craning his neck to see the screen. It's all a jumbled mess of words: lines and lines of meaningless text with a few real words thrown in here and there, and even then most of it is nonsensical.  
  
But not all of it.  
  
"Bingo." There it is. The file he's been looking for. _OASIS_ is lit up on the screen, ready to be opened. McCree reaches up to tap on the file. Pictures, blocks of code and text, lists of sub-files all pop up on the screen. One of the pictures is of an omnic -- the same one that had kicked the conference off with his greetings. McCree makes note of it, but opens up another file instead. "There. Now let's see..."  
  
A flash of purple light. The screen goes blank.  
  
"What the--?" McCree lurches forward, eyes wide and unbelieving. That couldn’t have been it. There had to be more than that, so what --  
  
"What did you do?!" Hanzo demands, but McCree ignores him. His focus is wholly on the holoscreen.  
  
_You shouldn't be here_  
  
Letter by letter, the text pops up into existence, purple against solid black. Below it, the same words repeat, over and over, scrolling endlessly: _You shouldn't be here You shouldn't be here You shouldn't be here You shouldn't be here You shouldn't be here You shouldn't be here You shouldn't be here_  
  
It keeps going and going and going, a never-ending loop. It's nearly hypnotic. It isn't until a hand comes down hard on his shoulder that McCree's attention is torn from the words. He jumps when Hanzo squeezes his shoulder, two fingertips already grazing Peacekeeper. He'd nearly forgotten he wasn't alone.  
  
"What is happening?" the archer demands.  
  
"I don't know, I--"  
  
"What's happening," a voice, scrambled and warped, booms over an intercom neither man can see, "is that you're messing with stuff you have no business with anymore, McCree. But good job making it this far! I'm impressed."  
  
"What do you mean?" Hanzo shouts. He looks up and around, eyes darting back and forth along the ceiling and walls as he tries and fails to find the source of the voice. It's all around them.  
  
"Ooh, and you're not alone this time! Brought a friend, hm? Gotta say, I didn't think you'd be all buddy-buddy with Shimada after he'd been hired to kill you."  
  
Both men freeze. "What did you say?" Hanzo's voice is low, dangerous. McCree bites down, hard, on his cigar, almost enough to rip through it. "How did you know about--"  
  
"You're still tryin' to kill me?!" He knows it's a ruse, a distraction, he _knows_ it, but his lead has slipped right through his fingers and he's just been reminded of the fact that he’s in a tight space with someone who had considered killing him at one point, and had just viciously overpowered someone else with nothing but his hands and feet. He’s a dead man walking if that’s what Hanzo wants.  
  
"No! I told you, I do not -- that is not the point, McCree! Focus!"   
  
The voice laughs, devilish and mocking. "Oh, you two are too much. But as much as I'd love to stick around and listen to you two argue... I won't. Because unlike _some_ people, I actually know how to do my job."  
  
The screen in front of them flashes: _TRANSMISSION ACTIVE._ "Soooo, anyone looking after our systems besides me? No? Didn't think so. Since nobody else seems to notice we've been infiltrated."  
  
The screen goes blank again. "Not that there's much you guys can do now. Even if you _did_ see something, you're probably too late. And oh! Here come some of my friends now. Adios, McCree!"   
  
The look Hanzo gives him could kill a man. Probably has. He adjusts his grip on his bow and nocks an arrow, aiming it out the door. McCree draws and reloads Peacekeeper.  
  
“You ready, Hanzo?”  
  
“Are you sure you trust me not to shoot you?”  
  
McCree laughs. “Yeah. You’d’ve done it by now if you were goin’ to.”  
  
“Hmph.” He catches the smirk on Hanzo’s lips out of the corner of his eye. “In that case, then yes. I am always ready.”  
  
Heavy footfalls grow louder with each passing second. McCree grins. “Good.”  
  
They've got company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	8. Words and Wake-up Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight comes to an end.

The fight is simple enough. Point, shoot, kill. They drop like flies with each shot, the sound of their bodies crumpling and hitting the ground muffled and overshadowed by the _crack_ of gunfire and the _whoosh_ of arrows cutting through the air. McCree doesn’t miss a shot. Hanzo doesn’t either.  
  
He keeps count of how many he drops – eight – and tallies up the remainder of the bodies on the ground when he and Hanzo are just about the only ones left standing. The last two Hanzo takes out with a single shot (did his arrow just break in half?), which brings his total up to seven. McCree grins, but says nothing. He’s sure Hanzo has been keeping track too. He may be precise, but pulling back and firing an arrow is a  lot slower and a lot more work than pulling a trigger.  
  
Hanzo's got the arms to prove it, too.  
  
“Looks like we’re clear.” Peacekeeper is shoved back in her holster as Hanzo slings his bow back over his shoulder. He walks over to one of the bodies and pulls an arrow out of its throat.  
  
“We were careless,” he says. He does not look up from where he crouches, just wipes the blood off the arrowhead with a rag he pulls from one of the pockets at his waist.  
  
“Hey now, I didn’t see you—” Jesse stops. “Wait, hold up. We?”  
  
Hanzo finally looks up. “We. I should have been watching more carefully, and you should have known that was a trap, seeing as you clearly have… _experience_ with these people.”  
__  
We. McCree gapes. He’s used to being told he should be more careful, that he should pay closer attention to things and not just rush in guns ablaze. Those words have always come from someone calmer, more experienced. From someone who wouldn’t make the mistakes he’s made, or had already learned from them. Not someone fighting on the same level as him, defying direct orders and running off alone. Not an -- not an --  
  
The word _ingrate_ springs readily to his mind. But that word does not apply here. He is not being admonished. Hanzo is criticizing his approach, yes, but he is also criticizing himself. Treating them as _equals_.  
  
The archer stands and moves on to the next body. McCree follows him wordlessly.  
  
It’s eerily quiet around them as Hanzo retrieves five more arrows and wipes them clean. The one that split apart is useless now. “What now?” Hanzo asks. “Did you find what you were looking for?”  
  
He avoids eye contact with McCree as he speaks to him, attention instead focused on the Astronomy building. On the mission, where it should be. The cowboy shrugs and puffs on the cigar that, miraculously, still sits alight between his lips. “In a manner of speakin’, sure.”

“Hm.” He starts walking. “And what was that?”  
  
“Learned a bit about who’s here. Not as much as I’d’ve liked, but I guess a man’s luck’s gotta run out sometime.”  
  
Hanzo gives him a curious look over his shoulder. “The omnic?”  
  
Omnic. Right. There was a photo of an omnic, but McCree had been so distracted looking for Blackwatch he’d completely overlooked any info on it. But Hanzo doesn't need to know that. “Sure. Same one that kicked off the conference.”  
  
Hanzo stops and turns around, arms crossed over his chest. He looks irritated, though McCree can’t imagine why. They’d just had a hell of a fight and come out on top. What could possibly be wrong? “Do you not think it odd that Talon would have a picture of an omnic in their files? One who is so prominent in these proceedings?”  
  
McCree chews his cigar. "Not really. Talon's got info on all sorts, I reckon."  
  
"Even though they are here to disrupt human-omnic relations?"  
  
McCree shrugs. "Ain't that weird if that’s their target."  
  
“Were you paying attention to the conference at all?”  
  
Another shrug. “Had other things on my mind, sugar.” He hopes the way he drags his eyes up and down Hanzo's form slowly, drinking in every detail, is flattering enough to distract him.  
  
Hanzo rolls his eyes. “Clearly. If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed that the omnic in the picture did not say anything at all past the formal introductions.”  
  
Jesse’s eyes go wide for half a second. “You think that’s significant.” He barely needs to say it. The pieces are starting to come together, slowly but surely.  
  
“I did not at the time, but now…”  
  
If Hanzo says anything else, it is lost in the fog of McCree's thoughts when he presses the button on his communicator. “Hey. Anyone got access to the guest list?”  
  
A short beep, then a voice: “We’re a little busy here, McCree!”  
  
“We only need the name of the omnic who greeted everyone,” Hanzo says.  
  
“Trust me, it's real important. Anyone remember it?”  
  
A short pause, then Sala’s voice comes online to say, “Didn’t give his own name.”  
  
“Any of you recognize him? Press, news, journals, anything?” Something churns in McCree’s gut. If his hunch is right, and Hanzo has come to the same conclusion as he has…  
  
Another voice rises. “You know,” it starts. McCree recognizes this voice: Combat Boots. “I keep up with this kinda thing. Dated an omnic for a while, so had a vested interest, y’know? I recognize just about everyone speaking at this thing, but I've never seen that guy anywhere. Figured he was just an MC or whatever. Like someone hired by the uni to host, right?”  
  
McCree spits his cigar to the ground and grinds it out on the concrete with the toe of his boot. He gives Hanzo a hard look, one he swears the archer mirrors.  
  
“I think we got a rat.”

  
  
\-----

  
  
Helix mobilizes immediately. "Where have the speakers been relocated to?!" Sala shouts over the communication line. He gets his answer instantly: they're in an empty lecture hall in a separate wing of the robotics building. It's horribly ironic. But it's close. McCree sets off at a run, Hanzo hot on his heels, as Sala and the others go back and forth over the comms.  
  
"How many are on guard?"  
  
"Three, sir!"  
  
"Eyes on the omnic?"  
  
"He's here, sir! No attempts on anything yet. No threats, no hostages. Still playing the part."  
  
"Good. Keep eyes on him until backup arrives!"  
  
"I got a bad feeling about this," McCree says.  
  
"Yes, sir. We --"  
  
_CRACK_.  
  
Someone screams over the line almost at the same instant the shot echoes out around them. Both Hanzo and McCree stop and duck, looking around frantically for the source of the shot. One more goes off before either of them spot the sniper. "There!" Hanzo draws an arrow quick as a flash and lets it fly. McCree follows the line of sight just as one last shot and one last scream sound off. The body on the roof collapses and falls, like a ragdoll, to the ground.  
  
"Not fast enough," Hanzo mutters to himself through gritted teeth.  
  
"Raleigh? Raleigh! Report!" That must have been the name of whoever had just been talking to Sala. "What's your status? Were you hit? Report!"  
  
There's no answer.  
  
"...The sniper that shot them is down," Hanzo says calmly over the line. McCree glances sidelong at him. His face is unreadable. "McCree and I are close. We will investigate."  
  
"Backup is on the way," Sala says, voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Don't you dare go in there alone."  
  
"Don't worry, boss! We ain't alone," McCree says, and cuts the communication. He turns to Hanzo with a wild smile and holds his hand out. "Whaddya say, Hanzo? You ready to go directly against orders? Again?"  
  
Hanzo rolls his eyes. He takes McCree's hand anyway.

  
\-----

  
  
They reach the robotics building quickly and barrel through the door like it isn't even there. There are a few bodies here and there, most of them wearing Talon's black. One or two are in Helix gear. "Looks like there was a firefight," McCree says solemnly.  
  
"It looks as if Talon lost," Hanzo agrees.  
  
"Good news for us, I guess. Just gotta hope none of 'em radioed the speakers' locations before they died."  
  
Hanzo huffs. "Would it matter if the omnic can communicate with them anyway?"  
  
"Nah. Suppose not." McCree adjusts his hat, tipping it up so that the brim doesn't fall into his field of vision. "Assuming the omnic really _is_ with Talon. No movement from him yet, remember?"  
  
"But now that the guards are dead..."  
  
"Yeah, that's the thing. Now would be the time for Talon to make its move and take out the target. Or targets," he adds. "So why haven't they?"  
  
Hanzo narrows his eyes. "It seems to me you would know better than I."  
  
"It's cause there's somethin' else they want. Or somethin' else they've got planned."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
McCree frowns. They're almost to the door now, ready to burst in and take this omnic out. He draws Peacekeeper. "Couldn't tell ya. But this is a university, right? And one of the best in the world. Probably got a lot more to offer than we think."  
  
Hanzo is quiet.  
  
They're at the door now. McCree presses himself against it. "You ready?" he asks. Hanzo nods and readies an arrow, levelling it at the door.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"A'right. Three... two... one..."  
  
They throw the doors open.  
  
"Get down!"  
  
People shout and duck behind desks as McCree hurls himself through the door, Hanzo right behind. Both have their weapons up and out, searching for their target -- or Talon's.  
  
"Don't worry, folks, nothin' to see here," McCree says. "Just tryin' to keep y'all safe. See?" When nobody comes out from behind the tables, he lowers Peacekeeper and holsters her. "We're just lookin' for someone. Someone that might not actually be interested in your safety after all. How's about you let me talk to that omnic? The one that opened things up today?"  
  
There's still no answer. Understandable, but frustrating. He sighs and turns his head to look at Hanzo over his shoulder. "Little help here?"  
  
Hanzo nods and releases his arrow, careful to reduce some of the tension on the bowstring as he does. It hits the base of one of the desks and illuminates the people cowering behind it and all the surrounding ones in blinding red.  
  
"There." He tips his chin toward a table at the back, toward the west side of the room. McCree follows the line of sight until he sees the silhouettes of an omnic and a woman crouched side-by-side. He tips his hat back and lights a new cigar, not caring that he's indoors and that Hanzo is probably sneering at him for it.  
  
"Gotcha," McCree says, just loud enough to be heard. He takes a step. Another. Another. "C'mon now, get up. No need to cause a scene--"  
  
"McCree? No way. You've gotta be kidding me."  
  
McCree takes his eyes off the target and whirls around, Peacekeeper up in a heartbeat. When he stills, he is face-to-face with another Talon agent, masked and armed and angry. His gun, a huge and heavy assault weapon, is pointed right at McCree and poised perfectly to shoot him full of lead. McCree can see Hanzo out of the corner of his eye, arrow already drawn, but not about to be loosed. They both know the second Hanzo twitches, Talon will open fire. And they still have the omnic in the back to worry about, too.  
  
He moves the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Don't know if we've met before," McCree says, tone flippant but eyes hard and searching. "It'd be a lot easier to tell if you'd take that helmet off."  
  
"I'm not doin' shit for you," the agent says. He adjusts his hold on his gun, just to remind everyone it's still there. A few people poke their heads out from behind the desks to see what's going on, then immediately pull back in when they realize there are three armed men all ready to fire on each other.  "Except maybe finally getting rid of you. You've been a pain in the ass too long now, or so I hear."  
  
"Yeah? And who told you that?" He doesn't blink when the red silhouettes behind the desks disappear. The room feels darker now. Less distracting. There's nothing here anymore but him and the Talon agent.  
  
"Nobody you'd care about, I'd wager."  
  
"Yeah? Try me."  
  
"Love to, but I'm afraid I've got bigger fish to fry -- yeah, bigger than you. I know that's probably hard to hear." The agent doesn't move his gun, but he looks past McCree. "Payload secure!"  
  
"You're coming with me." There's movement from the back row of desks. A grunt of pain and a shuffle of clothing. The omnic has a vicegrip on the arm of the woman it had been crouching with. It claps a hand over her mouth as she tries to scream and pushes her forward. McCree can hear everything, but he doesn't dare turn around. That would just give the masked man the perfect opportunity to shoot him -- or worse, everyone else in here.  
  
"McCree!" Hanzo shouts, and then suddenly everything lurches. McCree takes the signal for what it is and ducks. An arrow flies over his head and lodges in the back of the omnic's neck. It goes tumbling, but it's hard to tell if it's from the arrow or from the rapid fire of the assault weapon currently going off. Hanzo ducks too. The woman the omnic had been holding screams, curls in on herself, and covers her head with her arms. A chorus of screaming can only just barely be heard under the deafening fire.  
  
McCree rolls to the side, shoots twice. He gets the assailant in the left foot and the right hand and he drops to the floor along with the gun. "You son of a bitch!" He yells. "I'll kill -- I'll kill all of you!"  
  
He makes a desperate lunge for the gun with both hands just as Hanzo runs over to kick it away. In a flash, the agent backs up, injured hand curled to his chest while the other gets stuffed into a pocket. The archer pivots on his other foot and points an arrow directly at his head right as McCree comes over to point Peacekeeper's barrel in the same spot. Now that he's got the real target right where he wants him, McCree kneels down, gun not wavering in the slightest, and uses his metal hand to pry the visor off the helmet.  
  
Another from Blackwatch. Completely unsurprising.  
  
"You're done," he says. "Now I got one more question for you. Maybe I'll even let you go after." He shifts his finger from the frame to the trigger and quietly delights in the way the Blackwatch -- no, Talon -- agent's eyes follow the motion. "Who's still around? Who're you takin' orders from?"  
  
He spits on McCree's face. "I'd rather die than say anything. I'm no traitor. I'm not _you_."  
  
"Then so be it." Hanzo draws his bowstring tighter. He does not intend to leave the man alive. And though they once worked together, and he's saddened at the thought of saying goodbye to someone who might have once been like family, McCree agrees. This man can't be saved.  
  
He braces himself for the spray of blood he knows will come. But before it happens, the man laughs. "Oh, right. One more thing," he says. "I've got a message for you, McCree."  
  
Hanzo pauses, glances over at the cowboy out of the corner of his eye. McCree listens, his own eyes narrowing. The man grins like the devil pulls his hand out of his pocket. In it, something flashes. A bomb.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
"See you in Hell, _ingrate._ "  
  
"McCree!"  
  
There's no time to process the words. He'll have lots of time later, in the dead of night, when he's alone and trying to fall asleep and when he's home and when he's on his way to his next mission. But right now, there's no time to think. He acts. He's no longer rational, acting on instinct and adrenaline and fear and nothing else.  
  
He grabs the bomb.  
  
He grabs it in his metal and runs, runs like hell, faster than he has in years, maybe faster than he has in his life. And he makes it, just barely. He makes it to the shattered window, stumbling over the bodies of the Helix guards the sniper had taken out, and lobs the bomb out it. He doesn't know or care where it lands, as long as it isn't here.  
  
****_BOOM_.  
  
It goes off before it hits anything, right in the middle of the air. It doesn't get quite far enough, though, and part of the wall erupts inward, throwing McCree backwards and sending chunks of plaster and concrete flying in every direction. But the desks hold.  
  
McCree hits the floor on his back. The breath is knocked out of him. He can't hear anything. He can barely see through the dust. But he can just make out Hanzo, a short distance away, on the ground too. He's moving. He's okay.  
  
McCree closes his eyes. It's all he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! All that's left now is the epilogue.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this fic thus far. You have no idea how much that means to me.
> 
> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are: the end. This is the first time I've written a multi-chapter story in nearly a decade, so hopefully everything panned out well enough! I definitely have room for improvement, but all the same, I'm glad I was able to do this and that there are so many people out there that have enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it. Thank you for sticking with me! 
> 
> If you'd like to read this series from the beginning, [here's where to start!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582604)
> 
> As always... enjoy, my dears. ♥

The first thing he sees when he comes to is Hanzo.  
  
"There doesn't seem to be any serious injuries," a voice says, distant. He can sort of recognize it. "He just passed out from the impact. Guy was lucky; he should have at least gotten a concussion or something, but there isn't even a bump on his head."  
  
"That is... relieving." There. He knows that voice. That one's Hanzo. Probably. Hanzo's lips are moving, anyway. And he's looking down, too. His eyes go wide. "You are awake."  
  
"Don' soun' so s'prised..." McCree's voice sounds like sludge and his throat feels like gravel. It itches. He stirs and sits up, every inch of him aching. _Oh yeah, there're definitely gonna be bruises tomorrow._  
  
"Tell me, doc. How long I got t'live?" He clears his throat and rubs at his neck under his serape. The other person kneeling before him rolls their -- his? -- eyes.  
  
"I'm no doctor," the man says. It's Sala. "But it looks like you'll be fine."  
  
"Can you stand?"  
  
"'Course I can, darlin'," he insists. He tries to stand, and Hanzo comes with him, holding an arm out to help steady him. His legs ache. "See? No problem."  
  
"Hm." He doesn't sound convinced. All the same, Hanzo doesn't argue. McCree is grateful. He coughs loudly, trying to clear the dust from his throat.  
  
"So what happened? We clear 'em out?"  
  
Sala looks around at the room. There's rubble and debris everywhere, but no bodies. "We got the omnic and the guy that tried to blow the place. Both dead. Looks like you two got the job done."  
  
"Were there any casualties?" Hanzo glances at McCree as he asks. Sala shakes his head.  
  
"Not here. The initial attack got some civilians. But things could've been worse."  
  
"That's good," McCree says. He sags with relief. Hanzo looks away with a frown.  
  
"Right. McCree, get outta here and get yourself to a doctor or something. The rest of us got some cleanup to do." Sala nods at the two of them then excuses himself from the room. When he's gone, McCree smiles lazily at Hanzo.  
  
"Looks like we're done here," he says with a smile. "Good thing, too. I could use a drink."

  
  
\-----

  
  
_Ingrate._  
  
_Ingrate._  
  
_Ingrate._  
  
The word repeats itself over and over, he only thing in his mind that isn't blurred or fuzzy. The room spins. Fingertips brush the back of his hand, curled around a glass of whiskey. He glances at the hand the those fingertips are attached to, then gazes up at the strong, thick arm outstretched to him, patches of blue ink skipped along the way as his vision tries to keep up with the movement of his eyes. Hanzo frowns at him, cradling a glass of his own. "Are you all right?"  
  
McCree smiles and leans forward to press a sloppy kiss to Hanzo's hand. He almost misses. "Peachy keen, pumpkin."

  
  
\-----

  
  
He wakes up in Hanzo's room again. He's still clothed. Hanzo is nowhere to be seen.  
  
His head hurts. He isn't sure how he got here, but there's a glass of water next to the bed and a bottle of painkillers, so he has a pretty good guess.  
  
The door opens and Hanzo walks into the room, a paper bag in hand. He steps softly over to the bed and sits on the edge to pull two sweet buns out -- just like the one he'd had on their date.  
  
McCree smiles. "Thank you kindly," he says, voice rough and scratchy with sleep. Hanzo smiles in repsonse, and they eat together in silence.

  
  
\-----

  
  
McCree showers alone, revelling in the hot water cascading down his body. It wakes him up, makes him feel human again. By the time he's done and clean, the painkillers have kicked in and he feels like he could take on Talon all over again. Or half of them, anyway. He's still sore from getting knocked out by a chunk of concrete, but that just comes with the territory.  
  
He walks out of the tiny bathroom in nothing but a towel and smirks when he sees Hanzo's eyes roam his body, taking him in from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. McCree winks at him and bends over to pick up his clothes. He can just about hear Hanzo licking his lips.  
  
When he straightens up, the archer is right there, reaching up and running his fingers through damp hair. His pupils are dilated, almost swallowing his already dark irises. McCree just laughs. "Sorry, honey. I'm in no fit state right now."  
  
Hanzo's neutral expression falters a little and comes dangerously close to a frown before he steels himself. "You are leaving, then."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Where will you go?"  
  
This is something McCree isn't sure about himself. He hasn't given it much thought. "Back to the States, probably. For a while. Got some stuff I need to follow up on."  
  
Hanzo's hand drops. Something flashes in his eyes -- conflict, uncertainty; McCree isn't completely sure which it is. He looks away, trying to ignore the guilt that look stirs in him. "You know how that guy said he'd rather die than tell me anything? Seems he did both."  
  
There's a moment of silence and McCree pulls away. He turns from Hanzo to get dressed, not sure why he's suddenly so shy under that piercing gaze. "Sure told me a lot for how little he said. Now I just gotta see if I can figure out what's goin' on."  
  
He zips up his fly and turns back to Hanzo just as he wraps his serape around his shoulders. "So that is it, then," Hanzo says, voice barely more than a murmur. "We part ways."  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
The same conflicted look flickers over Hanzo's face for a split second. McCree looks down at his feet, unable to face it. He doesn't want to leave just yet -- he wants to stay, wants to drag Hanzo down onto the bed and hold him there for hours, just like he'd promised two nights ago.  
  
"McCree..."  
  
"I'm sorry," he says, softly. "You know how it is, though. This can't wait."  
  
He sees Hanzo's feet enter his field of vision. He feels the warmth radiating off Hanzo. He's so close. "I understand," the archer says softly. "I too have things I must attend to."  
  
There's another beat of silence, and then hands are fisting in McCree's serape, tugging him forward harshly, so suddenly that he barely comprehends when Hanzo's lips are crushed against his own.  
  
He melts into the contact, closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to curl around the back of Hanzo's neck. Their lips move together, pushing and pressing and coaxing until their tongues meet, just briefly, and then they both pull away.  
  
McCree gapes as Hanzo smiles at him. "Next time..." He leans forward and nips at Jesse's lower lip. "...Do not disappoint me."  
  
"Next time?" McCree almost laughs, breathless and disbelieving. "You think there's gonna be a next time?"  
  
"There was this time."  
  
Hanzo's smirk is infectious. McCree mirrors it and claps a hand on Hanzo's shoulder before he grabs his hat and turns to leave. "That better be a promise, darlin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a huuuuuge thank you to my writing buddies, betas, and enablers, [WordsfortheDead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsfortheDead/pseuds/WordsfortheDead), [dagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagon/pseuds/dagon), and [sophieinflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophieinflight/). This wouldn't be a thing without you guys. 
> 
> Second, thanks to everyone who stuck with me from the beginning of this fic, and especially those who took the time to leave a comment or tell me what you think. I can't even begin to express how much you all helped to kick my butt into gear and get me working harder. 
> 
> And, lastly, I just want to say -- this isn't the end! I've got more planned for these two, so I hope you'll check back in!
> 
> \- timehopper ♥

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


End file.
